Goodbye to Dreams (8 page)

Someone who did see them without their being aware was Mrs
Price-Jones
, who stared in disbelief before hurrying to tell her son Gareth.

They called on several cafes and stalls which, although not open for business, had groups of people working on them, busily cleaning and painting fresh signs to tempt the hordes to come, to enter and to buy. At each place they visited they introduced themselves and left details of the stock they carried and the services they offered regarding deliveries. Willie removed his cap and nodded politely as he was mentioned and described as reliable and conscientious.

‘Damn me, you’re coming early to talk about the summer trade,’ one
man said with a huge laugh. ‘How the ’ell do I know what I’ll want in June when it’s only January?’

‘We just want you to know about us,’ Ada explained. ‘We’ll call again a bit nearer the time, but we were told this was the weekend when many of you come here to plan work on repairs and decoration, so we thought we’d come and introduce ourselves.’

Cecily tactfully asked for the addresses of other rival stall-holders and made notes in her book.

‘Whitsun, that’s the traditional time for us to start,’ one man reminded them, after introducing himself as Peter Marshall. He gestured to the wooden cafe he was painting a cheerful green. ‘For the rest of the year this is just a useless responsibility.’

‘They’d come on bright days if you offered cups of tea,’ Ada suggested.

‘Council wouldn’t allow it.’

‘You could try asking for a short licence,’ Ada offered.

‘And we do a good line in teas, Mr Marshall.’ Cecily thumbed through her notes and handed him a price list, offering a better price for larger quantities.

‘I do think it’s a pity you’re just out of sight from the approach road, Mr Marshall,’ Ada said, her head on one side, tilting her hat provocatively. ‘Now, if this was my cafe, I’d find some tall, strong men to lift it and move it further over so it can be seen by new arrivals walking from the station.’

‘Council won’t allow that either. Sites are given and rules are firm.’

‘No floor on the building, is there? No trouble getting a few tall men to go inside and take the weight and budge it over a few steps. I noticed how low it is, made for girls, not tall men. Once it was moved, a little at a time, no one would believe it hadn’t always been there.’

‘Specially if, when you moved it, a bit of paint got spilt around the base. Look as though it had been there for years, it would.’

Willie was chuckling. The sisters certainly had plenty of daring ideas. Mr Marshall caught the boy’s eye and he too began to laugh, a full belly laugh, his head thrown back.

‘Damn me if I don’t try!’

Willie patted his pocket where he had put the watch the girls had lent him. He pulled it out and said importantly, ‘We’re behind schedule, ladies. We have to be back to meet Myfanwy, remember.’

They set off again, waving cheerfully at the cafe owner, then studied their list of proposed calls. Before they left the beach they had forged links with seven more cafe owners who might be interested in the services they offered. But it was Mr Marshall who remained in their mind at the end of their journey.

They stopped at the school and waited until Van emerged, looking around to see which of her aunties was meeting her that day. She gave a whoop of delight on seeing the pony and trap and stopped to fondle the head of the animal before climbing in and settling herself between them to ride home in style.

A stew was simmering on the hob and they invited Willie to share their meal. He politely refused to enter the living room and carried the bowl of stew and a plateful of bread out into the stable to eat in the light of the lantern and a guttering candle.

Before the sisters and Myfanwy ate, they set out a calendar of dates on which to revisit the people they had spoken to that afternoon. They also wrote the addresses of cafe owners they had not managed to see.

‘We’ll go next Wednesday and visit them all,’ Cecily said excitedly. ‘It’s going so well, Ada. I think 1930 is going to be a busy summer.’

‘That Mr Marshall was nice, wasn’t he?’ Ada mused.

‘Too old!’

‘And talking about men—’

‘Which we weren’t.’

‘Talking about men, he didn’t come, did he? Gareth I mean. Funny he didn’t come to the funeral and didn’t call today either.’

‘Gareth Price-Jones can’t do anything unless his mother gives
permission
!’ Cecily snapped. ‘Marvellous dancer he might be, but friend he is not!’

Ada ladled the beef stew out of the fire-blackened pan and set the table for their meal. Van came from the kitchen where she had been playing washing her doll’s clothes and they all began to eat. They had hardly started on the tasty meal when there was a knock on the shop door and they all looked at each other.

‘Who can that be?’ Cecily sighed. ‘Someone run out of sugar or
something
no doubt.’

‘I’ll go.’ Ada went through the dark shop and opened the outer door, the bell tinkling cheerfully. ‘Hello, Dorothy, we didn’t expect—’ Her
politenesses
halted as Dorothy rudely pushed past her.

‘You won’t get away with this, Cecily Owen,’ Dorothy shouted.

‘What are you on about?’ Cecily put an arm around Van’s shoulders and stared at her sister-in-law in amazement. Dorothy’s usual superior
expression
had been replaced by sheer rage.

‘You two. Stealing the shop and everything else from my son! Your eldest brother would have inherited if he’d lived, so his son should have it all. And if you hadn’t asserted undue influence on your father—’

‘What book did you get that from, Dorothy?’ Ada asked sweetly. She also went to stand beside Van, who seemed upset by the angry outburst.

‘Never mind what book! Just understand that I have taken advice and intend to get back for my son what is rightly his.’

‘Sit down.’ Cecily stood up and her voice was raised. Dorothy began to stare her out but instead sank into a chair beside the table.

‘Want some stew?’ Ada asked.

‘No I do not,’ Dorothy retorted.

‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ Ada replied calmly. For the first time Cecily noticed that, hanging back, afraid to come into the room where her mother’s fury was filling the air, was Dorothy’s sixteen-year-old daughter, Annette. Ada coaxed her in.

‘Go and sit by there,’ Dorothy snapped, pointing to a chair in the corner. Annette obeyed. Ada went to a drawer and took out some sweets. ‘Here you are, fach, I know Winter Mixtures are your favourite. You and our Van.’ Silently the two youngsters helped themselves to the sweets.

Dorothy was shedding her coat and hat and seemed to be prepared to entrench for battle.

‘Ada and I are tired,’ Cecily said. ‘We don’t want a long discussion, so what is it you have to say?’

‘I’m warning you that you’ve broken the rules of honesty and family loyalty, and I won’t accept it. This shop—’ She waved her arms about vaguely ‘—it all belongs to my son, Owen Owen, named for his grandfather.’

‘What about your daughter?’

‘Annette is a
girl
!’ Dorothy looked surprised at being asked such a stupid question. ‘Owen it is who belongs here, to carry on the family name. Owen Owen. You’ve cheated him.’

‘He’s thirteen, for heaven’s sake.’ Cecily was becoming angry. ‘He can’t look over the counter let alone run a business!’

‘All I want is your word, written up legal and proper, that it belongs to him and you’ll hand over what’s his by right.’

Ada was taking no part in the argument at this point. She was hugging Van and Annette, reassuring them there was nothing to be frightened of by stupid adults arguing and shouting.

In a low voice, Annette said, ‘Auntie Ada, I left one of my gloves in the stable and Mam will be cross if she finds out. Can I go and look for it?’

‘Pitch black out there it is but, yes, we’ll come and help you.’

Van pulled the curtain and looked out to where a light shone in the stable, ‘There’s a light. Willie’s still there, and he’ll help you find it, for sure.’

Annette slid off the chair and scuttled around the door into the passage hoping her mother wouldn’t stop her. The gas-light in the back kitchen had been lowered but the glow was sufficient for her to see her way. Walking up the yard she called, and Willie came out to meet her.

‘Left my glove I did.’

‘Yes, and I found it.’ They both smiled and he led her inside and found her a seat on a sack of sweet-scented hay, which he covered with his coat. A shiver shook her shoulders and he took off the coat he was wearing and put it around her.

‘What’s going on in there then?’ he asked, sitting beside her.

‘You can guess,’ Annette told him with a wry smile. ‘More shouting about how the aunties robbed poor Owen-Owen-named-for-his-
grandfather
!’

‘How does Owen feel about it?’

‘He thinks it funny, the thought of him at thirteen owning a shop. Daft they are, the lot of them. How can they expect Auntie Cecily and Auntie Ada to just get out and leave everything to my brother? They have to have a home and the business is theirs. I think so anyway.’

‘They’ll make a real success of it too, now the old man isn’t here to stop them,’ Willie told her. ‘And I’m going to learn all I can. One day,’ he said hesitantly, ‘one day, I won’t be Willie Morgan stable boy and odd-job boy, I’ll be a man with a place of my own and a position in the town.’

‘And I hope I’ll be there to be the first to congratulate you, Willie.’

‘Friends we are. Friends we’ll always be.’ He stood up and held out a hand to help her rise. She gripped it and they hesitantly leaned closer until their faces touched, cheek against cheek. A slow movement and lips met in a shy, delicate kiss.

Willie walked with her to the back door where the faint yellow light spilled onto the yard. At the door she whispered ‘Good night’ and he called her back.

‘Annette, don’t forget this.’ He took her glove from his pocket and kissed it before handing it to her.

When she went back to her chair behind the door, it seemed her mother hadn’t missed her and the argument was continuing the same as when she had left.

‘Dadda left the shop to Cecily and me,’ Ada was saying wearily. ‘It’s legal and there’s no argument about it.’

‘But it’s what
you
do!’ Dorothy shouted in exasperation. ‘All right, if the shop is yours legally, it’s your duty to see it comes back to my Owen.’

Cecily pointedly handed Dorothy the black, fur-trimmed coat and matching hat. Annette stood up from her chair.

‘Sorry we are for all the shouting,’ Cecily said to the anxious-looking girl. She put an arm around Van to include her and said, ‘Come and see us tomorrow. Why not meet at the school and come home with Van? We’ll all love to see you and you can eat with us and Willie will take you home. Right?’

‘Lovely. Thank you.’ Annette had shed the relaxed manner she showed with Willie and returned to the nervous voice she used when her mother was around. ‘Can I, Mam?’

‘No, you’re needed at home!’

The sisters escorted their visitors through the shop, Cecily carrying Van, and opened the door. But Dorothy wasn’t finished.

‘It isn’t very likely,’ she said loudly, ‘but
should
you two marry, I want it written down that my son has precedence over any children you might have.’

‘Not likely?’ Ada queried.

‘Without your poor dear father to mind Myfanwy, when will you be able to get out? Unless you fancy courting with Myfanwy on your arm!’ She clutched Annette’s shoulder and hurried her out into the cold, dark street. She didn’t reply to the sisters’ cheerful ‘good night’.

‘Phew! I hope that gale’s blown itself out.’

‘I doubt it.’ Cecily frowned as she put Van down and pushed the bolt on the door. ‘But she’s right about one thing. When are we going to get out and have some fun?’

‘I’ll stay with Edwin,’ Van said. ‘Uncle Bertie and Auntie Beryl say I’m as welcome as the flowers in spring!’

Hugging her, Ada said, ‘We won’t be able to go out as often as before.’ She kissed the little girl. ‘And we don’t might one little bit, love.’

‘Come on, let’s warm up that stew. I’m starving. There’s nothing like a blast of Dorothy to whet the appetite!’ Cecily poked a blaze from the fire. ‘Let’s sit and eat and forget all about Dorothy and her Owen Owen for today.’

But the remarks about them being unlikely to marry gave a sombre end to the evening, both sisters reminded that they were of an age when most of their friends were married and had children.

‘If you and Auntie Ada marry,’ Van said solemnly, ‘will that mean I have two fathers? I get teased in school for not having one.’

I
T WAS A
week after the funeral when Danny Preston called. He came into the shop as the sisters were about to close and introduced the young woman accompanying him.

‘Cecily, Ada, this is Jessie.’ The small, shy young woman offered a limp hand hesitantly, giving a brief smile.

Jessie had thick, rich auburn hair tucked apologetically into a tight bun as though she were ashamed of its beauty. She wore a brown coat out of which thin wrists showed and slender hands revealed her unease by their twisting. She followed Danny into the room where they were invited to sit, and found the chair in the corner behind the door which Annette always chose.

Danny talked loudly of their plans, but when a question was asked of Jessie, her hazel eyes would flutter anxiously to Danny. Asking permission to speak, Cecily thought with contempt. She was determined to dislike this girl whom Danny preferred to herself, yet as they sat and drank tea and made small talk, she found a glimmer of sympathy for her. Why had Danny made her face such an unpleasant interview? Surely not to impress me with his good fortune. Her pity for the girl grew.

‘I’m Cecily, my sister is Ada,’ she said, ‘In case Danny’s casual
introduction
confused you.’

‘It didn’t,’ Jessie said with another brief smile. ‘Danny talks about you so much I knew at once which was which.’

‘We came to see how you’re managing,’ Danny said.

‘We’re all right. Why? Are you offering to help us? You and Jessie?’

‘If there’s anything we can do—’ The words sounded as false coming from his lips, the lips she had once known so well, as they would coming from a stranger.

‘No thanks. We’re managing fine.’ She spoke the words emphatically, the final word on the subject. ‘Now, it’s getting late and unless you want
something
from the shop, Ada and I are just about to close the door.’

‘Best we’re off, then.’ Danny glared at Cecily. ‘We’d hate to bother you.’

‘We could do with some tinned plums,’ Jessie said. ‘I thought I’d make a plum pie.’

‘Forget it.’ Danny took her arm and led her through the shop into the street. ‘Don’t forget to call us when you need help,’ he shouted back, but he was looking at Ada not Cecily.

Another week passed before Gareth visited them. Both girls had almost despaired of seeing him again. Cecily thought about him, deliberately trying to force his image over one of Danny. Danny Preston, whose dark, powerful presence seemed to surround her with longing.

In the rush of extra business the funeral had caused, with people calling to eulogize over the dead man, and the curious stopping to make small purchases and see how they were managing without a man to look after things, it was rarely that the sisters mentioned either Danny or Gareth. All their time was spent either dealing with customers or planning how to serve them better.

It was late on a Friday evening in February when the gas-lights in the shop spluttered and outside was nothing but blackness when Gareth walked in. He came through the shop door bent slightly forward as usual but with added reluctance making his nervous stoop more pronounced. He coughed to make his presence known. Ada was alone in the shop; Cecily was in the back kitchen with Van, preparing their meal for when they closed the shop.

Ada was startled to see him. She had been thinking about him, wondering how he felt at the date with Cecily being so dramatically cancelled, and whether he might now change his mind and invite
her
to Cardiff instead. She was remembering how well she fitted into his arms when they danced and suddenly seeing him was as if he had materialized out of her dream.

She bent down to hide her blushes, pretending to rearrange some slabs of soap under the counter. He didn’t speak or repeat his cough but stood patiently waiting for her to reappear. She stood up when she was in control and asked brightly, ‘Gareth. What can we do for you?’ Both girls used the ‘we’. Everything they did was a shared responsibility and when either spoke it was as one of the co-ordinated pair. ‘We haven’t seen you for ages. Been ill, have you?’

‘No, no, not ill, though Mam hasn’t been strong this winter. No, no. It’s busy I’ve been. The business, you know.’

He always referred to the barber’s shop as ‘the business’, giving it an air of importance it didn’t deserve, being a small one-chair establishment. It wasn’t even a complete shop but a rented half, owned by the man who kept the other half, which was a tobacconist called The Wedge, owing to its oddly shaped front.

‘We thought to see you at Dadda’s funeral,’ Ada couldn’t help saying.

‘No, no. I couldn’t shut the business, see. As Mam pointed out to me, let people down and they’ll go somewhere else so fast, before you know it there’s no business left. Got to be careful in times like these you have. I know you and Cecily would understand, you being seen laughing on the way to the beach only the day after your father’s funeral, God rest him.’

‘Who told you we went to the beach?’ Ada asked with a frown.

‘Mam happened to see you as she was coming out of a flower shop. Loves flowers, Mam does.’

Cecily came in, wiping her floury hands on her apron. ‘She’d have loved the funeral then, Gareth. Plenty of flowers there.’ Gareth began to splutter a reply but Cecily went on with a laugh, ‘Thought you’d moved and not told us, didn’t we, Ada?’

‘No, no, couldn’t do that.’ Gulping in embarrassment, he explained that he wanted some apples for his mother. His eyes followed Ada as she went to the window display and put some apples in a brown bag. ‘I’ll call again when you aren’t too busy,’ he said, handing them the money. ‘Pity you won’t be coming to the dances for a while.’

‘Respect for Dadda,’ Ada said solemnly.

‘No, no, I was thinking you’ve got no one to mind Myfanwy.’ He
swallowed
nervously. ‘That too, of course.’

‘Why, are you offering, Gareth?’ Cecily smiled brightly.

‘I wouldn’t be able to dance with you then, would I?’

‘Well, Happy Christmas, in case we don’t see you before then.’ Cecily leaned on the counter, offering a glimpse of the swell of her breasts. He swallowed again and hurriedly said good night.

‘Cecily,’ Ada scolded with a grin. ‘You’ll ruin his sleep!’

‘Honestly, you’d never believe he invited me out just weeks ago!’

‘That mother of his has put in a word no doubt. Warned him about two predatory females.’

‘You could be right, about us being predatory females,’ Cecily said thoughtfully. ‘We’ve had a few strange remarks since Dadda died. We’re getting a reputation for being women ready to pounce on the first
unsuspecting
male to come near us. Dangerous, that’s what we’ve become, Ada. Dangerous women.’

‘There’s lovely.’ Ada’s grey eyes glistened with held back laughter. ‘Put it on my tombstone. Ada Owen was a dangerous woman!’

Gareth’s visits to the shop became regular but not frequent. He called once a week to buy fruit. He was still attracted to the vivacious Cecily but it was at Ada he looked when he spoke, unable to meet the blue eyes of the bolder sister who was the object of his dreams.

Willie appointed himself the sisters’ protector. Whenever they had to go out he insisted quietly but firmly that he would take them and wait to bring them home in the trap. One evening they had been to Bertie and Beryl’s for a meal. Van and Edwin had been allowed to stay up late and it was almost twelve when they came out of the big house, the door being held by young Gaynor, who rarely seemed to be off duty.

Willie was leaning against the lamppost outside. He wore a Welsh flannel shirt ending at the neck with a band of white cotton, the usual shiny white collar not worn on this late-night duty. Its absence was hidden by a long, knitted scarf wound several times around his neck and with its ends tucked inside the too large waistcoat and jacket.

He held a cigarette between the tips of his finger and thumb, its glowing end within his cupped hand. Cecily wondered how many he had smoked as he had patiently stood there, always arriving early rather than allow them to wait. He leaned against the softly hissing gas lamp, one leg straight, the other bent, with one heavy boot tilted on its toe. He changed feet
occasionally
to ease the chill. The horse pointed its feet in a similar way, the gesture like a mock curtsey.

When the three passengers were settled into their seats, Bertie went to where the young stable lad was holding the horse’s head. ‘I’m very grateful to you, young Willie,’ he said, puffing on his large cigar.

‘Grateful? What for, Mr Richards?’ Willie was surprised.

‘For the way you take care of the Misses Owen. I know you get extra pay but you do a lot more than most would.’ He touched the boy’s shoulder. ‘This is too late for you, though, so in future when they come here you needn’t wait. I’ll take them home in the car. All right?’ He pressed a pound note into the boy’s hand. ‘Just a little extra to show my
appreciation
.’

‘Thank you, Mr Richards!’ Willie felt self-conscious as he tucked the rug around his passengers, although it was something he always did. Now, with a crisp pound note in his hand, he hoped Mr Richards didn’t think it was done to impress.

‘There’s something about that boy. He deserves to get on,’ Bertie said to Beryl as they watched the trap disappear into the night. He threw his cigar butt into the gutter. ‘Yes, a good boy that one.’

Over the next weeks as days grew warmer and lighter, Cecily and Ada used their spare time visiting as many of the beach traders as possible. With them all they left a list of prices and the promise of a first-class delivery service.
Ada left them a card printed by Phil Spencer, with a drawing of their shop and their name and address, in case others approached them, making it easy for them to forget the promise of reliable business from the sisters.

Waldo Watkins came often to the shop during the months following their inheritance and helped sort out any problems that arose. He was a small, neat man in his early forties but with hair as fair as a young boy. His small hands were deft in their basic skills of preparing food, boning fish and bacon with a speed that made the tasks look easy.

On the day he demonstrated the way of dealing with a side of bacon, Willie was invited in and he listened and watched carefully, questioning Waldo until he was sure he could deal with the job. He boned a carcase while Waldo watched and smiled proudly when the proprietor of the large grocery store on the main road complimented him on how little flesh he’d left on the bones.

‘Damn it all, I thought you’d have trouble with the oyster bone but it’s out as clean as I could get it, boy.’

Patiently a shoulder was boned and Willie declared himself satisfied. ‘That’s another thing I can take off their hands,’ he said. ‘Got enough to do with selling, they have. Best I do the back-room jobs.’

‘Lucky they are to have you, Willie Morgan.’

As the days lengthened, the sisters’ world widened. They weren’t as free as when their father was alive but they found time for a little fun: life had to be more than work and sleep. Bertie and Beryl met Myfanwy from school at least once a week and they were able to go dancing again. Through the dancing, Gareth became more relaxed with them and after many false starts invited Cecily to go to Cardiff for a meal. Ada hid her
disappointment
and promised to wait up.

‘No need,’ Cecily laughed. ‘I’m a big girl now!’

‘I couldn’t sleep, knowing the big front door wasn’t bolted. Best I wait and make sure everything is safe before we go to bed.’

They planned to go on the bus. Gareth chose the route that wandered through several small villages rather than the direct service most people preferred. ‘Nice to have a leisurely drive,’ he explained vaguely. The bus went via the beach in one direction, further inland on its return. Cecily was curious but accepted Gareth’s plan.

She suspected, though, that the bus into Cardiff and the meal so far away was partly so they wouldn’t be seen by anyone who knew them, saving him the embarrassment of people knowing about their date. He really was a shy man. She wondered whether his mother knew, or if he had concocted some tale about an appointment with a business friend, to save
her destroying his confidence by warning him about taking out one of the Owen girls.

Cecily did not love Gareth. She hardly knew him apart from as a dancing partner and occasional customer, but there was something appealing about him, and when they danced she wanted nothing more than to spend the hours with him. He was a different person on the dance floor. He lost his shyness and talked amusingly and with confidence. Yet, when they met outside the world of the shimmy, the Charleston, the polka and the foxtrot, he was hardly able to string a few words together.

After weeks of being so involved with building the business, the thought of a bus ride and a meal were something to look forward to and she chose her dress with care. She decided on a slim-fitting, button-up coat reaching to mid-calf, the buttons threatening to bruise her knees as she walked, but so fashionable it was worth the risk. She chose Cuban heeled shoes, a cloche hat, and a handbag in the same dark green as the shoes. The coat was mauve and had buttons in the same green as the accessories. Ada was impressed when she saw her ready to go out.

‘I’d never have chosen green to go with that mauve coat but it looks very smart.’

‘Auntie Cecily, you are beautiful!’ Van said in awe. Then she added cheekily, ‘Except for the hat, mind. It looks like a bucket for coal!’

Gareth was due at seven, but it was almost eight when he knocked the shop door. Ada went to let him in and the bell jangled its disapproval. Cecily had removed her hat and was sitting, her feet free of shoes, on a stool close to the fire. Gareth puffed in, his face red with embarrassment, bending forward in his anxiety at being so late.

‘Mam had a turn,’ he blurted out. ‘Sorry I am. But we still have time, if you haven’t changed your mind.’

‘If you hadn’t turned up, Gareth, I would never, ever have considered accepting an invitation again.’