Hearts of Gold (7 page)

‘Of course we can, and Nurse?’

‘Yes, Doctor?’ She hesitated in the doorway.

‘Thank you for your help.’

The staff nurse positively purred at the unaccustomed praise.

Slightly embarrassed Bethan turned her attention to Maisie. Dr John pulled down his mask. When Bethan glanced up, he was leaning against the wall, his head in his hands. He saw her looking at him and shook his head.

‘I hate the touch and go ones,’ he said drily. ‘Six years as a medical student and I’m still not used to death.’

‘Then you’ve only just qualified?’ Bethan asked, without stopping to think that she was talking to a doctor.

‘Last summer. This is my first job. I’m assisting my father.’

‘Doctor John?’ she blurted out.

‘You’ve worked out the family connection?’

She tried, and failed, to think of a witty retort. She’d never been one for spontaneous repartee, not like Laura.

Maisie moaned again.

He moved over to the bed and checked her pulse. ‘The lady’s waking up. Let’s hope there’ll be no more complications.’

The next hour was a busy one, and Bethan learned that young Dr John was nothing if not thorough. He didn’t leave the ward until Maisie had regained consciousness, and she still had to wash, change and make Maisie as comfortable as a patient who has just given birth can be made.

Even awake, the girl seemed to be in a stupor. Bethan chatted as she worked telling her that she had a lovely little girl, and that she’d be seeing her soon, but she failed to elicit a response. Undeterred, she persisted talking about the child.

‘She’s small but all right, and with care, she won’t be small for long.’

‘Am I going back to the unmarrieds ward?’ Maisie whispered finally.

‘Not just yet,’ Bethan replied calmly. ‘You’ll be with us for at least ten days. I’ll be passing your house tonight. Do you want me to call in …’

‘No!’

That single word said everything. Bethan finished doing what she had to in silence. As soon as Maisie was ready for the ward, she called one of the maids and told her to summon a porter. By the time Maisie was safely bedded down in a side ward away from the “respectable” married patients, it was three-thirty in the afternoon and Bethan was free to take her lunch break.

She went to the ward kitchen, hoping to find fresh pies and pasties cadged from the Hopkin Morgan van that delivered to the main kitchen.

She was disappointed. There was a quarter-full tray of stale iced buns and a pot of stewed tea. Nothing more. She couldn’t do much about the buns but she drained the tea down the sink, tipped the leaves in the waste bucket and started again.

‘Laura did well then?’

‘She did?’ Bethan looked up from the gas that she was trying to light, and saw Glan Richards the ward porter, who also happened to be her next door neighbour.

‘She got a distinction. Of course she couldn’t make it top of the year like you …’

Bethan switched off the gas that was refusing to light, tore a piece off a bun and threw it at him. It hit his nose, fell into the kettle and blossomed over the surface of the water.

‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ she complained, emptying and rinsing out the kettle.

‘What I made you do? You just wait until tonight.’ He tried to grab her by the waist but, too quick for him, she ducked and moved away. ‘You are going to the hospital ball aren’t you?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you there,’ she said tartly, sticking her tongue out at him.

Glan smiled a winning smile that he practised in front of the mirror every night. ‘Why fight me, Beth?’ He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You know you can’t resist me.’

She tried the gas again. This time it caught and she dropped the taper she was holding into the sink, but not before it singed the tips of her fingers.

‘Resist you! Times like this I could quite cheerfully brain you,’

she exclaimed feelingly, brushing his hand off her.

Glan’s smile never wavered. He took her outburst in good humour. He was used to being put down by the Powells, especially Bethan whom he’d known since their mutual school days in Maesycoed Infants. Above medium height with well-developed muscles, brown curly hair and pleasant open features; he was fairly good-looking and proudly aware of the fact.

He lived at home with his mother and his father, a bullying collier who tried to dominate every single aspect of his timid wife and children’s lives, which was why Glan was the only one left at home. But even Mr Richards’ senior had failed to prevent Glan from growing a moustache and fancying himself as a second John Gilbert; a fantasy founded in a surfeit of Hollywood films viewed from the bug run in the White Palace.

‘Come on, Beth,’ Glan crooned in what he imagined to be a seductive manner. ‘Walk home from the ball with me tonight and I’ll show you the moon as you’ve never seen it before.’

‘I’d rather give the ball a miss.’

‘You can’t miss the ball. Rumour has it you’re going to be the guest of honour.’

‘Laura!’ Bethan reached past Glan and hugged her friend. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Of course I couldn’t do as well as you …’

‘No one could,’ Glan echoed.

‘Is that tea you’re having because if it is, I’ll have a cup?’ Laura pushed Glan aside and sat on one of the hard wooden chairs that were ranged opposite the sink. ‘Qualified nurses can demand to be put on early tea,’ she winked at Glan.

‘I’m on late lunch,’ Bethan griped.

‘Poor you. Have you seen the new doctor?’

‘I have,’ Bethan concurred, her mouth full of stale bun.

‘Isn’t he wonderful?’

‘If you like the smarmy kind.’

‘Smarmy!’ Laura exclaimed indignantly. ‘Smarmy! Bethan, you’re the limit. He looks like Ronald Colman and has the manners of the Prince of Wales.’ The kettle boiled, and she tipped hot water into the teapot to warm it. ‘He can carry me off any time he likes.’

‘Who? Glan?’ Nurse Williams asked innocently, walking into the kitchen.

‘Nurse Ronconi is smitten by Doctor John.’ Glan glowered sticking rigidly to his position in the doorway in the hope of getting a fresh cup of tea.

‘Young Doctor John?’ Nurse Williams proceeded to lay out cups and saucers. ‘Forget it, ladies. Remember hospital rules, no fraternisation between doctors and nurses. Besides, rumour has it he’s spoken for. Anthea Llewellyn Jones,’ she divulged archly.

‘Good. That leaves all the more for us porters,’ Glan leered, lifting his eyebrows.

‘All the more what?’ Laura demanded testily.

‘Good times!’ he suggested mildly, retreating from the belligerent tone.

‘Haven’t you got work to do?’ Nurse Williams enquired.

‘I have.’ He ducked out of the doorway.

‘Exiled to tea in the boiler room,’ Laura laughed.

‘You’re not serious about Doctor John are you?’ Bethan asked Laura after Nurse Williams had made two cups of tea and taken them to sister’s office.’

‘Depends on what you mean by “serious”. I love a challenge. Not that Anthea Llewellyn-Jones would be that. And then again I wouldn’t mind going to the New Theatre with him, or a dance. Not the hospital dance of course, that’s a bit public. But a Saturday hop in Porth or Treorchy out of sight of the gossips, not to mention my brothers, with an opportunity to cuddle up on the train on the way home, now that’s a different proposition.’ Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. She loved winding Bethan up.

Bethan poured out their tea.

‘If you’re angling for Prince Charming you’d better sort out a better golden coach than your brother’s Trojan van for tonight.’

‘That’s the fairy godmother department,’

‘If you ask me, Pontypridd’s a little short on those.’

‘Then I’ll improvise. If that gold net that your aunt has fits, it’ll do for a start. Just remember, Miss Top of the Year, I laid claim to him first.’

‘You can have him.’

‘Such generosity. In return I give you Glan.’

‘You can’t, you’ll need him yourself.’

Laura looked quizzically at Bethan.

‘According to the fairy story, Cinderella needs a rat to turn into a coachman’

Darkness falls early on the Graig hill in winter. By the time Laura and Bethan left the hospital at seven, the street lamps had been lit for hours, throwing yellow smudges of light into an atmosphere filled with needle-sharp darts of rain, and on to roads spattered with glistening pools of black water.

‘It’s freezing,’ Laura complained, pulling her cloak tightly around her shoulders.

‘No, it isn’t,’ Bethan contradicted. ‘If it was, this would be hail not rain.’

‘Always have to be so literal, don’t you?’

‘Now that’s a big word.’

‘It comes from having a brother who’s taking his matriculation next year.’

‘Tony?’

‘Who else?’

Heads down, they ran out of the gates and walked up High Street as fast as they could.

‘Papa thinks Tony’s going to be a priest, but Papa’s going to be disappointed. Tony follows Ronnie. He likes the ladies’ too much.’

‘At sixteen?’

‘You’re never too young.’

‘Our Eddie’s sixteen and all he can think about is boxing.’

‘That’s what he tells you. Evening, Mr Smart, off to buy sweets then?’ Laura asked cheerily.

‘Terrible craving to have, and by the way, congratulations, Nurse Ronconi, Nurse Powell.’ He tipped his hat to them as he entered Davies’ shop, the busiest sweet shop on the Graig. There were large cracks between the floorboards in front of the counter, filed wide enough to drop betting slips down to the bookie’s runner who waited in the basement to catch them.

Bethan knew both her brothers worked there whenever they could. Haydn told her they couldn’t afford not to. It was too well-paid. Five shillings for a day’s easy work. But ever since she’d found out what they’d been doing to boost their contribution to the family kitty, she’d lived in terror of a knock on the door. The police picked up the bookie’s runners in turn and she’d read in the
Pontypridd Observer
only last week that one of them had been fined ten pounds with an alternative of six weeks gaol.

If it had been Haydn or Eddie it would have had to be prison. There was no way they could raise that kind of money without getting into debt. And Elizabeth wouldn’t stand for that.

‘Congratulation’s, Bethan, Laura.’ A young girl dressed in a thin, cotton frock totally unsuitable for the time of year spoke shyly to them as she lugged a basket of potatoes out of the greengrocer’s.

‘Here, Judith, let me help with that.’ Bethan hooked her fingers around the handle.

‘And what do you mean by “congratulationsˮ?’ Laura asked.

‘Glan told Mam that you’d both passed your examinations and that you –’ she pointed a grubby finger at Bethan, ‘passed as high as you can go.’

‘He did, did he?’ Bethan murmured.

‘Thank you, Glan,’ Laura said warmly. ‘What’s the betting that we’ve nothing to tell our families when we get home?’

‘Everyone’s ever so proud of you.’ Judith tried to pull the shrunken cardigan she was wearing higher round her neck. ‘Mam said if I work hard in school, I could be a nurse.’

‘I bet you’d make a good one too.’ Bethan released her hold on the basket as they approached the junction of High and Graig Street. ‘Mind how you go now.’

‘Thanks, Bethan, I will.’

Cold and wet, they left the gleaming shop windows of High Street behind them and began the long climb up the hill. The street was busy with shoppers, women and errand running children, spending the pennies or, if they were lucky shillings, that their men folk had scavenged during the day. The less fortunate among them putting a small piece of boiling bacon or a slice of brawn “on the slate” until dole or pay day. Every shopkeeper on the Graig had a book that in theory was worth at least twice his weekly takings.

A few men, caps pulled low, collars high, sidled out of the pubs. As they passed the Morning Star Bethan glanced in and saw their lodger Alun Jones, sitting in the corner with a red-haired, blowzy-looking woman.

‘That will be one less mouth for your mam to feed tonight,’ Laura commented.

They crossed the road, chilled to the bone, scarcely able to breathe through the cutting driving rain as they walked up the narrow gully that led into the middle of Leyshon Street.

Bethan tapped Megan’s door and turned the key shouting as she walked through. William, Megan’s eighteen-year old son, poked his head out of the kitchen door.

‘Nice line in drowned rats you’ve brought with you, Beth.’

‘Less of your cheek,’ Bethan warned. She was as fond of William as she was of her own brothers. Tall, dark and handsome like Evan, the similarity between him and his uncle had often caused comment, but only among those who couldn’t remember his father.’

‘Look out,’ he called to Megan. ‘Mermaids coming.’

‘Get on with you, William.’ Megan pushed him aside as she bustled to the door. ‘You poor creatures, come in, sit yourselves down next to the fire, and have a good warm.’ She moved a pile of clothes off one chair and the cat off the other. Bethan and Laura felt as though a furnace door had opened in front of them. Hot and humid, the damp cooking and washing smells of the kitchen closed around them like a scalding wet blanket. A pan of stew was bubbling on the range, and an appetising aroma of lamb and vegetables wafted above the other odours.

Bethan sniffed the air appreciatively; she hadn’t realised how hungry she was.

‘Take off those wet things and have some tea with us,’ Megan ordered.

‘We’d love to, Auntie Megan,’ Bethan said quickly, ‘but we daren’t. They’ll be waiting for us at home.’

‘You had your results then.’ Megan crossed her arms over her overall breast pocket and beamed. ‘Two distinctions, I hear.’ She was too tactful to mention she’d also heard that Bethan had come top of the year, but her pride in her niece’s achievements shone in her eyes.

‘Congratulations, Bethan, Laura.’ They both turned and saw Hetty Bull sitting perched in the corner on a kitchen chair.

‘Aunt Hetty, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,’ Bethan apologised. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine,’ Hetty said automatically with a shy smile. ‘Your uncle will be so pleased for you.’

‘She came out best in the year,’ Laura said, pointing a wet thumb at Bethan.

‘I knew you’d pass. I just knew it.’ Megan brushed a tear from her eyes and hugged her niece, ‘I only wish Mam Powell was here to see it.’

‘Knowing didn’t stop her from paying a fortune teller to make sure,’ William interrupted. ‘Congratulations, girl, I always knew you’d come for something.’

‘And me?’ Laura flirted provocatively.

‘I’ll try to stay well, and out of the Graig Hospital.’

‘Can I hit him, Mrs Powell?’

‘Be my guest, Laura, but it won’t do any good.’ Megan released Bethan, dried her tears, and opened a suitcase half hidden behind one of the chairs. ‘Here, as you’re pushed for time you can pick what you want out of these.’ She lifted a couple of large flat cardboard boxes on to the table. ‘And while you’re looking I’ll get your skirt, Hetty, and the dresses I promised the girls from upstairs.’

‘How much are these?’ Laura held up a box of powder.

‘Large boxes nine pence, small sixpence; all the lipsticks are four pence. The small bottles of Evening in Paris are sixpence, the large nine pence. The bottles of essence of violets are nine pence, but they’re really big.’

‘I don’t know how you do it, Mrs Powell,’ Laura commented as she opened the lid of the largest box.

‘Special prices?’ Bethan raised her eyebrows.

‘I won’t deny that I don’t make as much profit out of you two as I do out of some of my customers, but I do well enough,’ Megan said before she left the room.

‘First I’ve heard customers complain that the goods are too cheap.’ William took a wide rimmed, thick white china bowl out of the cupboard and helped himself to a generous portion of stew from the pan. ‘Sure you won’t have some?’ He offered the bowl to Hetty, who retreated even further into her shell.

‘That’s very generous, William, thank you. But I must go andmake the minister’s tea. I have it here.’ She patted a bag that contained half a pound of best sliced ham for him and a small portion of salted dripping for her.

‘Have you seen Haydn?’ Bethan asked, remembering the overcoat she’d asked him to buy for Eddie.

‘Yes,’ William said mysteriously. He set the bowl on the table, took a spoon from the drawer and sat down. Dipping the spoon into the stew, he lifted it slowly to his lips and blew on it.

‘And?’ Bethan demanded.

‘He looked very well.’

‘William!’

‘Is he teasing you again?’ Megan burst through the door, her arms full of dresses.

‘Need you ask?’ Bethan retorted.

‘Not when you call him William. He’s just like his father was. Infuriating.’ A momentary fondness flickered in her eyes. ‘Here, Hetty, this is yours. Mrs Morris took it in a good four inches at the waist. She said it’s the smallest waist she’s ever sewed for, and it’s about time you put on a few pounds.’

I’ve always been the same size, Megan,’ Hetty said mildly. ‘Thank you for arranging this. How much do I owe you?’

‘Nothing, love, Mrs Morris said it only took her a few minutes to do.’

‘Oh I couldn’t …ʼ

‘Course you could.’

‘Well, please thank her very much. And tell her if there’s anything I can do for her she only has to ask. Well I must be on my way; the minister will be wanting his tea straight after the deacons’ meeting and I mustn’t keep him waiting.’

‘See you soon, love. William, see Mrs Bull out.’

‘Here we go!’ William took Hetty’s parcels and carried them to the front door for her. They looked slightly ridiculous, the small mousy woman trailing behind the tall strapping young man.

‘I’ll never understand why Hetty always refers to John Joseph as “the ministerˮ,’ Megan said when she heard the door close. ‘Do you think she calls him that when they’re alone together?’

‘Even in bed I should think,’ Laura said wickedly.

‘Poor woman probably sleeps at his feet,’ William added as he returned to his stew.

‘That’s quite enough, William. Laura, this is the gold net.’

Laura dropped the lipstick she was holding back into the box. ‘Oh Mrs Powell, it’s lovely. Really lovely.’ She fingered the layers of net pulling them back to inspect the underskirt of cream satin.

‘I’ve never seen anything like this on the ten-bob rail in Leslie’s.’

‘And you won’t!’ Megan dumped the rest of her load on one of the armchairs. ‘It’s from my special stock, and it’s only seven and six.’

‘Really! It’s absolutely gorgeous. It simply has to fit, can I try it on?’

‘William.’ Megan turned to her son, who was sitting engrossed in his meal, ‘out!’

‘Mam, it’s freezing in the passage,’ he complained.

‘And these poor girls have just walked up the hill in the pouring rain. They need a warm more than you. Out.’

‘Mam!’ Even as he protested, William picked up his plate and spoon and left his chair.

‘The stew will keep you warm,’ Megan consoled soothingly.

‘It’ll freeze out there.’

‘I don’t mind going in the washhouse, Mrs Powell,’ Laura offered.

‘You’ll do no such thing, my girl.’

Laura had her cloak and dress off the moment William closed the door.

‘This is for you, bach! Megan opened a thin, flattish box. A mass of flame-coloured silk burst out. ‘A present,’ she said proudly. ‘From all of us to a clever girl.’

‘Auntie, I couldn’t possibly

‘Yes, you could. Come on now, let’s see it on you.’

It fitted Bethan to perfection. A long, low waistline skimmed her narrow waist and slim hips, flaring out into a flowing, floor length skirt that swirled elegantly around her legs. The sleeves were short and full. Cut on the same bias as the skirt. She walked up to the sideboard and stooped to peer at herself in the oval mirror that hung above it. The neckline was low, lower than anything she’d ever worn before judging by the three inches of woollen vest that protruded above it.

‘Oh Beth, it looks perfect on you,’ Laura said. ‘You can wear it with your black crocheted shawl. You know the one your grandmother left you.’

‘Here, you can’t see yourself like that. Look at yourself properly.’ Megan lifted the mirror from the wall, and held it sideways, tilting it, so Bethan had a full-length view.

The dress was truly stunning. Even the soaking wet veil that covered her hair and the heavily ribbed lines of her bulky underwear couldn’t destroy its impact.

‘Please Auntie Megan, let me buy it off you?’ she pleaded.

‘You won’t take a present from me, now?’

‘Of course I will, but not this. It must have cost a fortune.’

‘I’ll get William to put in an extra shift,’ Megan winked.

‘Auntie …’

‘It’s from all of us, for passing.’ There was a tone in Megan’s voice that Bethan knew from past experience wouldn’t brook further argument.

‘Thank you. Very much,’ she said quietly.

‘And don’t go hugging me.’ Megan pushed her away. ‘At least, not until you put the dress back in its box. Don’t you know silk creases, you silly girl?’

‘When you’ve finished admiring yourself, perhaps you’d care to pass judgement on me.’ Laura stood in the only clear space in the room, behind the table and in front of the tiny window that overlooked the back yard.

‘You sparkle like one of those glittering angels you get in Woolworth’s to go on the Christmas tree,’ Megan smiled.

‘You look beautiful,’ Bethan complimented sincerely.

‘Only beautiful?’ Laura complained. ‘I was hoping for sensational.’

‘You won’t get that wearing those shoes and stockings,’ Megan laughed, ‘but it does fit well. The colour suits you. Brings out your complexion nicely.’

‘I’ll take it, Mrs Powell, and these two lipsticks, the large powder and the Evening in Paris scent.’ Laura pulled a ten shilling note out of her purse and put it on the table, Megan took down a tin emblazoned with Lord Kitchener’s portrait from the mantelpiece, pushed in the note and counted out four pennies.

‘Thank you, Mrs Powell.’

‘Don’t mention it, love.’ Megan turned to Bethan. ‘You’ve got the silk underwear I gave you for Christmas?’