Nothing is Forever (5 page)

‘Henry, I’ve been unfair to you, keeping you waiting with half promises. I do love you, I always have, but you deserve more than I can give you. The truth is, I can’t leave this house and move into yours, not now, not ever. I’m sorry.’

‘You can face a life alone, rattling around this house? Why?’

‘It’s my home and it’s home for Emrys, Geraint, Bryn and Tommy too. I have to stay, keep it for them and their children.’

‘That’s nonsense and you know it. All right, if you don’t love me, then say it! Stop pretending you’re refusing me because of your brothers, who all have lives of their own and no longer need you!’

‘They do need me! They’re married, but they still need to know their home is here. Why else do they want me to stay here? It’s their childhood, reminders of all the years they were growing up, and the only memories they have of our parents. I can’t take it away from them.’

‘And, just in case the thought has ever flickered through your mind, I can’t live here, being constantly reminded that I don’t belong in your special charmed circle!’

He threw down the kitchen chairs he had brought, put the silver tea-set on the table and, after calling goodnight to Aunty Blod, drove off without another word.

That evening, despite heavy rain and a cold dark sky, it would be very late before she closed the door.

Jack stood watching the house, standing in the darkest area between the street lamp and the light from the window. He seemed unaware of the rain although his clothes were sodden and smelling unpleasantly of damp, and rain ran down his neck and soaked his shirt back and front. He moved closer and could hear the radio and occasional laughter from the old lady he’d seen earlier. They had referred to her as Aunty Blod, but he couldn’t remember if the old man had ever used the name.

Silently he walked through the open door and stood in the hall, darting into the hall cupboard when he heard Ruth mention making a cup of cocoa. He held his breath as she passed him to go into the kitchen and listened as she made hot drinks. She passed again to wash the cups before climbing the stairs with the old lady in front of her and helping her into bed. She came back down and locked the door and he waited in the darkness.

Was this the house he’d been searching for since he was fourteen? He waited until silence had fallen then opened drawers and cupboards, looking for something, anything, bearing the name he wanted. He’d tried so many places and felt no hope, but there was something about this house that made him feel more confident of having found the right one at last. He needed to search it thoroughly and he didn’t know how he was going to achieve that. But he knew a way would be found. Money belonging to him was here, he could smell it. and it would be found, however long it took. He eased the bolt, unlocked the door and, picking up the silver tea-set, he left.

Ruth woke and at once felt a draught. A moment later she heard the tapping sound and guessed that was what had woken her. She grabbed her dressing gown and in the weird light of early dawn went downstairs. She picked up the torch but didn’t light it. The grey glow slipping through the curtains was enough for her to see her way and slowly, quietly, gripping the torch as a weapon, she descended the stairs. The house was silent, it was too early for traffic to be passing and the silence was oppressive, the place didn’t feel like her home.

Slowly, her heart beating painfully, she looked in each room. The tapping sound she heard was repeated as she entered the kitchen and she saw that the back door stood ajar, a breeze moving it gently.

This time she was sure she had locked and bolted it, clearly remembered doing so. So how could it be open? The kitchen was where she sat for her late-night hot drink; on the armchair facing the door, so how could she have forgotten?

She ran across, locked it, withdrew the key and threw the bolt, then panic set in even stronger. If someone was in the house she had locked herself in with him.

She put on all the lights then looked in all the downstairs rooms before slowly, fearfully, beginning to climb the stairs. She looked first into Aunty Blod’s room without disturbing her, then the rest of the house. Nothing seemed disturbed until she opened the final door. What she found in the room that had once been Tommy’s made her cry out in fright. The contents of the dressing-table had been emptied onto the floor, the drawers left on top of the bed.

No one could have got in. Not though a door bolted on the inside! It must be me, she thought. I must be doing this. There is no one else here. Sleep-walking maybe. She remembered her mother telling she had done so for a while when she was young.

Dawn was breaking and the increasing light gave her confidence. It must be her. She looked at her feet wondering if they showed signs of walking around outside. There was no other way she could find out about night-time wanderings; her dreams and presumably sleepwalking too, were rarely remembered. The soles of her feet showed no sign of tramping around. Yet it must be the explanation. There was no other.

Without stopping even for a cup of tea, she found a torch and went to the shed and from the tool box that had been her father’s, took out a rusty old bolt and some screws. Tonight she would make sure no one could get in then, if anything was moved, she would know that she was sleep walking as she had when she was a child.

It took a long time, and the screws resisted her puny strength so she hit them in with a hammer to start them off and eventually there was a second bolt on the back door. She determined not to leave it open again, not even when she went to the clothes line, or to put rubbish in the ash bin.

She was too wide awake to consider going back to bed so she made tea, and it was then that she noticed that the silver tea-set had gone. She tried to remember when she had last noticed it and decided sadly that Henry must have taken it away again. She hadn’t been very gracious when he had offered it.

Tommy and Bryn were setting off for work and, as they drove past their old home noticed that lights were on. ‘Ruth is up early, Bryn. Should we call and see that she’s all right?’ Tommy slowed but Bryn shook his head and he drove on.

‘I don’t think she’s happy living there on her own. Perhaps she’ll move on and sell the house,’ Bryn said.

‘Handy if she would, we’d be glad of the extra cash.’

They were heading to a local farm where they were to clear out an old barn and repair the wooden walls. They passed Henry’s shop and then saw Mali running down the road, pulling on her coat as she went.

Mali and her sister Megan shared the work in a café and when they were on the early shift, they were always in a rush to get there by 7.30. Megan had a little boy, called Mickie and the sisters shared the happy task of taking care of him, sharing the job in the café, alternating between the café and looking after Mickie.

‘Hi, Mali,’ Tommy called. ‘Why didn’t you and Megan come to our wedding party?’

‘Mam went out instead of looking after Mickie as she promised in a weak moment and which she immediately regretted.’

‘Should have brought him. Loved it he would.’

‘Tell Mam. Never does a thing to help us with Dylan. Always complaining about him, poor little love.’

‘She’s the loser. Lovely kid he is.’

Mali ran on. She and her sister Megan knew they had to do something to get them away from their difficult mother. She was unhelpful and always complaining, making their lives miserable and two-year-old Mickie deserved better and so did she and Megan. If only they could afford to rent a house, it didn’t have to be something grand, they’d all be happier in a hovel rather than the place they no longer considered their home.

‘What we need,’ Megan said, when they talked about their situation later, ‘what we desperately want is a third to share. Then we could afford to rent a place.’

‘What we need,’ Mali said, looking at the sleeping Mickie, ‘what we desperately need, is an angelic third, someone who can cope with our Mickie, bless him.’

Jack had found a place to sleep that he used for a couple of nights, sharing with another man, an ex-soldier who was unable to return to the life he had led before joining the army and serving in France. On the first night, each wrapped in a sour-smelling blanket on opposite corners of the leaky shed, they didn’t speak. Jack slept fitfully, opening an eye whenever the other man moved, afraid of losing the valuable items in his bundle.

After a second night, the two men met in a field through which a small stream meandered. Jack was washing himself in the breathtakingly cold water and, seeing the man approach leapt up and stood warningly over his bundle.

‘Got soap, have you?’ the man asked hopefully and Jack offered the slim remains of a bar.

‘Is there any place where I can get some shoes?’ Jack asked. ‘I’m right through the bottom of these, no mistake.’

‘You English? You sound English.’

‘Sure am.’

‘Ex army?’

‘Shoes?’ Jack asked irritably. ‘Where can I find some shoes?’

‘There’s a church and in the basement they sometimes have stuff. You have to show them what you’ve got and if they think you need a better pair and they’ve got some that fit you might be lucky. Want me to show you where it is? I’ll treat you to a cuppa if you like?’

‘I’ll treat you to a cup of tea.’ Then Jack looked at the man and shook his head. ‘But they won’t let you into a café smelling like you do. Use that soap and I’ll be waiting in the lane.’

‘Bossy bloke, aren’t you?’

‘Don’t be too long.’

The church was closed but a notice explained when there would be someone there and they settled to wait. In the porch of the church there was a carrier bag filled with woollen items that someone had left. The two men searched through and helped themselves to shirts and a jumper each. Not a good fit but clean and in reasonable condition. They hid what they’d found and waited patiently in the hope of some shoes.

After answering a series of questions, followed by advice on finding work and somewhere to stay, they were invited to join in a prayer, then each was given a warm coat and shoes and sent on their way.

‘Can I trust you?’ Jack asked, as the man was about to leave. ‘If I can, I know how you can earn a few shillings.’

‘What d’you want me to do? Nothing illegal, mind.’

‘I have something valuable which I want to sell.’

‘Stolen?’

‘They belonged to my grandmother,’ Jack replied.

‘Then why don’t you sell them?’

‘I don’t want my uncle to see me. Family heirlooms, mate; he’d be angry if he saw me selling them.’

‘I thought you were from England?’

‘Look, if you don’t want a few shillings clear off!’

‘All right, what is it?’

The silver was taken into Henry’s shop and only Tabitha, his assistant, was there. She was tall, very thin and was dressed in old-fashioned, ill-fitting clothes. Her voice was low and nervous but she asked politely what the man had to offer in the bag he placed on the counter. The man looked at her and asked boldly if he could talk to the boss as he had something to sell. He didn’t imagine for a moment that this person was in charge of buying and he needed to get rid of this, and fast. Whatever his partner said, there was something iffy about all this. ‘Hurry up,’ he said irritably.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with me,’ she said, trying to sound firm. She was suspicious of the nervous man who offered the items for sale but he told a good story and she took a chance. Henry allowed her to buy occasionally, aware of her wide knowledge of silver, china and glass and she made a low offer which was swiftly accepted.

‘Will you put your name and address on this form, please?’ she said and, still unsure, she phoned the police station and spoke to Sergeant Miller who checked but found no report of the silver being stolen. Nervously the man wrote down an imaginary address in Cardiff and hurried out grasping the money tightly.

Jack gave him a generous percentage and the men parted company.

Tabitha didn’t bother telling Henry about her purchase when he rang later; he had been in a hurry and she knew she had got it for a good price.

A few days later, Henry was driving along the road on Gower that would take him to Rhossili. He had left Penarth, where he had stayed the night with his mother, and now, instead of going back to the shop and the flat above, he had turned the van away from the town.

It was very early and he didn’t expect to see anyone, apart from maybe a few dog-walkers. Today he wanted to avoid people, he needed a peaceful place to sit and think. His mother rarely interfered in his life, but she had been hinting for a while that it was time he gave up on any hope of marrying Ruth Thomas. ‘Now, with the boys all gone she’s still finding reasons to delay, and,’ she had added firmly, ‘I want you to face facts and let her go, find someone who will love you, who won’t find excuses, who’ll provide me with grandchildren one day soon.’

He walked along the wide cliff path where sheep grazed and gulls wailed their mournful cries, accompanied by the cackling laughter of the herring gulls, out to the point where he faced The Worm, an island at high tide but which could be reached once the tide went out. Today the tide was high and the Worm’s Head was a safe haven for the birds.

He sat on the grass, his eyes following the path that led downward to where the tide played among the rocks. It was cold, with a wind rising and flapping his coat, but he seemed unaware of its chilly embrace. His thoughts were chilled too, thoughts of being alone, if he walked away from Ruth. He couldn’t imagine sharing his life with anyone else. Could he accept friendship with no hope of anything more?

Passion was rarely aroused between them these days. Their meetings were usually when they were surrounded by her brothers and their friends. He felt that he was included in that group in Ruth’s mind, with no value that separated him from them.

Even when he invited her out, to the pictures or for a meal to celebrate a birthday or something, she arranged for some of the others to join them. He frowned. Had he been a fool? Had she been trying to tell him how it was and he had been too stupid to see the signs? She had made vague promises that they would marry as soon as she was free from caring for her brothers, but they were gone and she still had no intention of giving up her home, or her hope that Tommy, Bryn, Emrys, Geraint and the rest, would still need her. The problem was, he needed her and he didn’t know how to persuade her of that.

A woman walked towards him, a spaniel quartering the ground, his nose searching for interesting smells, his tail wagging furiously. He turned and waved, then quickly turned away, hoping she wouldn’t want to talk. To discourage her he took a notebook out of his pocket and perused it diligently until she had turned and walked back towards the village. He glanced at his watch. Seven o’clock. Time he was moving too.

With no decision made, he walked back to the road then set off to drive slowly back through a village that was just waking, windows lit, garages opening, the sound of engines disturbing the quiet, a few people walking towards the bus stop, a boy delivering morning papers, a bike thrown against a hedge waiting for its owner to return. His mind was drifting lazily, but a dog suddenly ran out of a gateway startling him and making his brakes squeal. The dog began barking at his car and he stopped completely, afraid of hitting it.

‘I’m sorry,’ a voice called, and a woman appeared, grabbed the dog, cuffed it and began dragging it towards the gate. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘It’s my daughter’s dog and so badly behaved.’

‘No harm done.’ Henry smiled and drove on. He wondered whether a dog would be good company for Ruth; he knew that sleeping in the house alone was not something she enjoyed. But no, it would probably become another reason for her not to marry me, he decided with a sigh. What they needed was time together to really talk.

He turned away from home again and instead, called to see Ruth. She was hanging sheets out on the line and he stepped across to help her with the awkward task, with the wind threatening to steal them from her hands.

‘What about going out for the day on Sunday?’ he said. ‘Just you and me. We’re sure to find a café somewhere for a light lunch and there’s a good restaurant near Carmarthen where we can get an excellent evening meal. Let’s make a day of it.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Henry. I sort of expect Tommy and Toni, Bryn and Brenda on Sunday.’

‘“Sort of”? That doesn’t sound very definite. Can’t it be changed? I’ll put a note in their door, shall I? So they know we’ll be out for the afternoon and evening.’

‘No, I – I haven’t exactly invited them yet. It’s whether I can get enough meat to make a meal.’

‘I see. Nothing definite, but you are definite that you don’t want to spend a day with me. Right. I understand.’

He hurried around the corner of the house and, ignoring her calls, drove the short distance to the flats where Tommy and Bryn lived. He knocked, hoping for a reply. A note wasn’t a good idea. A note could be easily removed. Ruth had a key to both flats, he thought with a grim smile. Fortunately Toni was home and he explained his plan for Sunday, before returning to Ruth.