Swansea Girls (27 page)

‘And when she wants to get married?’

‘Years from now.’

‘Whenever, what’s her husband going to think when he discovers she’s not a virgin?’

‘You sound like my mother’s maiden aunt.’

‘A girl’s reputation is everything ...’ Joe began hotly, thinking of his sister and Larry.

‘As is her sex appeal. And I’ve been enhancing Emily’s every way I know how. I may even end up marrying her myself.’

‘And if you don’t?’

‘If her future husband has any sense, he’ll be grateful to me for breaking her in.’

‘You’re disgusting.’

‘God save me from the bourgeoisie and their petty bloody morality.’

‘You want us to be as immoral as the select few, so there’ll be more women available for you to practise on.’

‘Now you’re telling me I’m an aristocrat!’

‘There might not be a title, but look at this place and the way you live.’

‘I admit we’re comfortably off. Last time I looked that wasn’t a crime. But you can’t exactly plead poverty either. You go to university the same as me. Your allowance is the same. Your trust fund is bigger ...’

‘What do you know about my trust fund?’

‘Wake up, Joe, this is Swansea, everyone knows everyone else’s business.’

‘So I’m beginning to find out.’

‘There’s no need to go into a huff. I’m not the one who did the prying.’

‘But you move in circles that do.’ Joe took his next shot, missed the ball and sent his cue skidding across the baize.

‘Steady, my father’s only just had this table recovered.’

‘And if I bugger it, he’ll just have to re-cover it again, won’t he?’

‘What the hell’s got into you?’

Joe stacked his cue on the stand. ‘I’m surprised a socially acceptable family like yours puts up with their son slumming with the likes of me.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Joe, all I was trying to say is you give more credence to outmoded, archaic rules than me or, fortunately for me, Emily.’

They stared at one another for a moment. ‘Tantrum over?’ Robin handed Joe back his cue.

‘I can’t bear the thought of people discussing me behind my back.’

‘They do that wherever you live. And if you don’t want the size of your trust fund talked about, I suggest you have a word with your solicitor. He has a loose mouth, especially after he’s had a few drinks.’ Robin took and missed his next shot.

‘That breaches client confidentiality.’

‘Now you want to sue your solicitor – take my advice, Joe, vent your frustrations on something else. Preferably shaped like this.’ Resting his cue in the crook of his elbow, Robin sketched a large-bosomed woman in the air with his hands.

‘So, what was it like?’ Joe asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the table.

‘Gentlemen don’t talk about it. Leastways not when they do it with girls they care about.’

‘Then you do care for her.’

‘That’s a given. Despite what you think of me for seducing the gorgeous Emily, I may yet marry her ... But not this week.’

‘Next?’ Joe enquired caustically, shooting his cue.

‘We have known one another most of our lives.’

‘But you’ve only just started seeing her.’

‘In every sense of the word.’ Robin walked round the table. ‘Girls look good in their underwear but so much better out of it. I even brought up the subject of weddings and we’re agreed neither of us is in a hurry to walk down the aisle. There are too many other things to think about. My career – when it gets started – hers. She’s going to art college with Angie and wants to finish the course even if she never works. And then there’s a house, furniture, so many boring things to settle. We both want to have fun before we start trawling round department stores and estate agents. She fancies going skiing at Christmas. Her people have friends who have a chalet in Switzerland. If you’re with Angie by then, you could come with us. You know what parents are. They’d be happier at the thought of two girls going off with two boys. It preserves the illusion of single-sex bedrooms and respectability.’

‘I have no intention of going out with Angie – or sleeping with her – to suit you and Emily.’

‘I thought you were hooked on her or was that some other friend I saw moping around all summer, mooning over his lost love?’

‘Leave it out, Robin,’ Joe snapped irritably, childishly pleased when Robin missed his shot.

‘Whisky?’ Robin went to the decanter on the sideboard.

‘Doesn’t your father ever complain about the amount of his booze you drink?’

‘He doesn’t keep a check on it. If he did my mother might realise just how much he drinks all by himself. Keep them,’ Robin said carelessly as Joe tried to hand the pack of French letters back to him. ‘I’ve plenty and you never know when they might come in useful.’

Concerned lest someone walk in and see the packet lying around, Joe stowed it in his shirt pocket. ‘These aren’t foolproof.’

‘They are if you use them properly.’

‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’

‘You don’t believe that rubbish about the government putting pinholes in one in every dozen to keep up the population.’

‘How naive do you think I am?’

‘After that outburst earlier I was beginning to wonder. So, you taking Angie out soon, or what?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘Nothing, except that she asked me to put in a good word for her. Girls tell one another everything. It’s a bit like follow my leader. Now that Emily’s tried it little sister won’t be far behind and you could be the lucky recipient. If you are, you’re so upright and moral, you’d marry her even if Marilyn Monroe flung herself at your feet the next time you left the house. And that would give me a decent brother-in-law I could get on with, not to mention help me with my career in the BBC.’ Robin stood back and watched Joe line up his next shot.

‘You’re talking rot.’

‘You’re a high flyer, I’m a plodder. I don’t mind. Pops has the pull to get me into the organisation. Eventually, you’ll be in a position to keep me there.’

‘Angie really asked you to talk to me?’

‘She did. And if you know anything about Angie, that should tell you how desperately fond of you she is. She’s never run after a boy before in her life. And speak of the devil.’

‘You didn’t say she was in the house,’ Joe reproached as voices drifted in from the hall.

‘You didn’t ask. She’s been plotting some girl thing or other in the drawing room,’ he shouted for the benefit of whoever was in the hall.

‘Charity concert for the benefit of the Children’s Fresh-Air Fund, not girl thing,’ Angie corrected, opening the door and looking at them. Joe glanced into the hall, it was packed with what seemed like a horde of chattering girls in pastel frocks, bright-red lipstick and high-heeled stilettos that were making machine-gun noises on the tiled floor.

‘Hello, boys.’ Half a dozen of them crowded in behind Angie.

‘Goodbye, girls.’ Robin moved to the door.

‘Say goodbye nicely, Robin,’ Angela chided.

‘Goodbye nicely.’

‘Isn’t he a scream?’ Emily shrieked at no one in particular.

‘A hoot.’ Angie smiled at Joe and arched her eyebrows. ‘If you’re staying for supper, Joe, I’ll warn Mrs John.’

‘He’ll be staying for breakfast if you don’t leave us in peace to finish this game,’ Robin interrupted.

‘See you later, Robin,’ Emily cooed, backing into the hall.

‘Joe?’ Angie waited, hand on doorknob.

‘I’ll be out after the game.’

‘Then I’ll tell Mrs John to set an extra place.’

He faltered as he looked into her eyes. ‘Please, Angie,’ he capitulated, ‘if it’s not too much trouble.’

‘No trouble, Joe, no trouble at all.’

‘What the hell ...’ Martin was jerked out of sleep by a banging on the front door that resounded down to the end room that he and Jack had organised as their bedroom.

‘Need you ask?’

Martin opened his eyes to see his brother balancing on one leg while he thrust his other into his jeans.

‘What time is it?’ he barked above the pounding on the door.

‘After twelve. The old man can’t be working tonight and by the racket he’s making I’d say he’s pissed.’

Martin leapt out of bed. ‘You’re not going to the door.’

‘You want him to wake the entire street?’

Grabbing his dressing gown, Martin pushed ahead of Jack, but Brian reached the kitchen before either of them. Opening the front door, Brian stepped forward. Red-eyed, swaying on his feet, Ernie would have fallen flat on his face if Brian hadn’t held him stiffly at arm’s length.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Ernie’s eyes rolled alarmingly in his head as he tried – and failed – to focus.

‘I think you’re the one who should be introducing himself,’ Brian replied in his detached police officer’s voice.

‘You’re not my bloody son.’

‘I’m glad to say.’

‘Bastard!’

‘I have to caution you ...’

‘Jack, where’s bloody Jack ...’ Gripping the doorposts, Ernie swayed precariously forward. ‘There you are, you stupid moron. I’ve come for my money.’

‘What money?’ Tying his dressing-gown belt, Martin stepped in front of his father, preventing him from advancing any further into the room.

‘Rent money. The stupid cow next door ...’

‘As neither of us are living next door, we’re not paying the rent.’

‘You’d see your mother put out on the streets?’

‘She’s not moving back in with you.’

‘You ...’ Ernie swung a punch. Brian parried it before Martin had a chance. Lifting Ernie’s arm high behind his back, he held him firm as he slumped forward.

‘Want me to arrest him?’ Brian looked from Martin to Jack. ‘We’ve enough for breach of the peace and drunk and disorderly.’

‘Which will get him what?’ Martin asked.

‘A cell until he sobers up, a fine if he goes to court.’

‘Which he won’t pay and my mother will starve herself to find money for.’ Jack took his father from Brian and slung him over his shoulder. ‘What’s the bloody point?’

‘The point is we can’t have him coming round here and making that racket at this time of night.’

‘Because he scares you?’ Jack taunted.

‘Because he’ll terrify your sister even more than she is now, and possibly Lily and Mrs Evans, although in a fair contest I’d back Mrs Evans against your father any day.’

‘I’ll give you a hand to get him home.’ Martin rummaged in Ernie’s pockets for his keys. Flicking through the ring, he extracted the one he wanted and walked through the door.

‘You’re not going to dress?’ Jack asked.

‘Who’ll be around at this time of night to see me?’

Brian had made a pot of cocoa and cut half a dozen sandwiches, by the time Jack and Martin returned.

‘You were gone a long time,’ Brian commented as Martin slung his dressing gown and pyjama jacket in a bucket ready for washing, filled the sink with water and plunged his head and hands in it.

‘The place was like a pigsty.’

‘If it had been up to me I would have thrown him in his own filth, but this one’ – Jack indicated Martin – ‘insisted on changing the bed.’

‘I don’t like him any more than you ...’

‘Then why clean up after him?’

‘Mam’s sake, I suppose.’

‘Do you have any idea when she’s coming out of hospital?’ Brian poured cocoa into three cups.

‘No.’

‘I’ll move out any time you want me to.’

‘There’s no need. Mam won’t move in with us even when she does come out.’

‘You don’t know that, Jack.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Slamming the door behind him, Jack stormed off down the passage.

‘I’m sorry about Jack.’ Drying himself off, Martin sat at the table in his pyjama trousers and sipped his cocoa.

‘In his position I’d be climbing the wall.’

‘Then you do understand.’

‘I try. Look, it’s none of my business ...’

‘It is when the old man comes thumping on our door at this time of night.’

‘He must have been pretty desperate to ask you for his rent money.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Have you thought he could be about to get evicted?’

‘In which case he’ll have to leave the street ... and Mam won’t have anywhere other than here to come back to.’ Martin’s face cracked into the first real smile Brian had seen on it since he’d come to Swansea.

‘Powell, you’re a bloody genius.’

‘It’s only a theory.’

‘I can check the details with Mrs Lannon tomorrow. She’s told me dozens of times that if it was only my father in her basement, she’d have had him put out on the street years ago.’

‘Might he leave Swansea?’

Martin shook his head. ‘That would be too much to hope for. Apart from his job, everyone he knows is here. Aside from a stint in the army he’s never left the place.’

Brian would have offered to keep a discreet eye on Ernie Clay but he sensed it would be superfluous. He was surprised Ernie had got away with knocking on their door tonight, but then Roy was on night shift and things could get busy after the pubs closed. He suddenly understood why the rotas had been changed in the station so he and Roy were never on together.

‘Thanks for the cocoa.’ Martin picked up Jack’s cup. ‘I’ll take this down for him. And thanks for persuading us to let you move in.’

‘Changed your mind about coppers?’

‘Keep at it and I might.’

‘Thank you for the supper, Dr Watkin Morgan, Mrs Watkin Morgan.’ Joe nodded to them as he left the table.

‘It’s a pleasure to have you here, Joseph. Any time,’ Mrs Watkin Morgan gushed.

‘See you tomorrow,’ Robin murmured absently, gazing intently at Emily.

‘I’ll see Joseph out.’ Angela accompanied him into the hall. ‘Don’t forget your coat.’

‘I won’t.’

‘There’s a party tomorrow ...’ Angie began.

‘I’m busy.’

‘Your sister again.’ She smiled brightly. ‘Don’t answer that.’

‘How about Saturday?’

‘Last pool party of the season here. You’ll come?’

He remembered Lily was going to the youth club dance. ‘I’ll come.’

Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. ‘I’ll see you then.’

Chapter Fifteen

John scanned the letter Rosie had put on his desk before scribbling his signature at the foot of the page. ‘That’s it for the day?’

‘Yes, Mr Griffiths.’

‘You can leave now.’

‘It’s only five o’clock.’

‘Have an hour on me. How are the wedding preparations going?’

‘Fine, I think, Mr Griffiths.’

‘You think,’ he reiterated, looking quizzically at her.

‘My mother’s taken it upon herself to see to every detail.’

‘Then all you have to worry about is looking beautiful on the day.’

‘That’s one way of looking at it, Mr Griffiths.’ She picked up the letters. ‘I’ll get Katie to put these in the post.’

‘How are you getting on with her?’

‘She’s keen, conscientious, works well; in fact, she typed this and, as you see, without a single mistake, unlike most of my letters.’

John set his pen on his desk, crossed his arms and looked up at his secretary. ‘I know you, Rosie, there’s a “but” coming.’

‘From a work point of view I can’t fault her, Mr Griffiths, but she is dreadfully nervous and absolutely petrified of making a mistake. She also tries to clear all the outstanding business at the end of every day, which you well know is impossible. I reassure her every chance I get, but at the rate she’s going she’ll be a worn-out wreck before her probationary period is up. She wouldn’t take a tea break at four o’clock because of the typing, and when I suggested she take one now she insisted she’d prefer to study our accounting systems.’

‘But all in all you think she’s up to the job.’

‘More than up to it, Mr Griffiths. You picked well.’

‘That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear.’ John glanced into the outer office as Rosie opened the door. Katie was sitting at Rosie’s desk, head bent over the invoice book. She did look tired and drawn but was it down to the stress of the job, as Rosie had suggested, or was it her father? Along with half the street he had heard Ernie banging on her brothers’ door in a drunken stupor late last night and when he had seen Roy coming home after night shift, Roy had let slip that Annie Clay wasn’t doing so well.

Making a mental note to offer Katie a lift home to see if he could help her in any way, he picked up the furniture catalogue he had been studying and flicked through the dining room suites. None looked as though they would last more than a couple of months of normal family wear and tear, unlike his grandmother’s suite, which he had packed away in the basement – but if customers wanted contemporary style before durability and craftsmanship, that’s what he would stock.

The telephone rang in the outer office. Hearing Katie answer it in a tone virtually indistinguishable from Rosie’s, he left his chair and moved restlessly to the window. Now that he’d begun to consider a life without Esme all he wanted from her was his freedom, but would she give him a divorce if he pressed her? And would Joe and Helen want to live with him or their mother? The only thing he could be certain of was that if Esme did agree to a divorce she would not want to stay in Carlton Terrace, considering the number of times she had tried to get him to move out of the street.

Already Joe spent more time outside the house than in, although if he had been in Joe’s position he wouldn’t want to spend time at home after witnessing the ultimatum he’d given Esme. But then Joe was no longer a child. After university he would make an independent life for himself and move on to wherever his work was. And Helen? She had seemed strange the last week. Detached, secretive, cleaning out the basement instead of fighting with Esme and demanding she be allowed out as he’d expected her to. Helen was growing up and not very well if last Saturday night was anything to go by.

Helen’s problems seemed insurmountable; it pained him even to think of them. He loved her and wanted to help her, only he wasn’t sure how. But if Esme left, could he cope with Helen alone?

Just thinking about it led to a vision of life without Esme. Of living alone – or possibly just with the children – of restoring the house to the comfortable, homely place it had been in his grandparents’ day. Listening to the music he liked on the radio and the record player on Sunday mornings. Asking the daily to prepare the kind of food he preferred and hadn’t eaten at home since his marriage. Traditional cooked dinners, with meat and three vegetables thick, savoury gravy, roast potatoes and stuffing. And afterwards substantial suet puddings filled with apple and rhubarb, and smothered in creamy custard as opposed to the endless cold salads and fruit jellies Esme ordered. The more he considered how his life would be without his wife, the more it appealed. He would be alone but not lonely. And best of all, he wouldn’t have to think about Esme any longer. Where she was. What she was doing, or who she was doing it with. He wouldn’t have to concern himself whether she approved of anything he or the children did. Freedom ...

‘Mr Griffiths.’ He turned to see Katie standing in the doorway. ‘Mrs Evans is on the telephone; she would like to speak to you.’

‘To me?’ He looked at Katie’s white face and realised what the call might mean. ‘Do you know how to put a call through to my telephone?’

‘Yes, Rosie showed me.’ She returned to her desk. He closed the door behind her and waited for the ring.

‘We won’t be getting many more evenings like this before the year’s end.’ Joe breathed in deeply as he stood on the foreshore of Swansea Bay and gazed out towards Mumbles Head. The sun, an enormous golden ball, hovered above the sea, floating on filaments of saffron and crimson clouds, lending the entire scene a surreal tinge, blending sand, cliffs and sky in a single-textured mass of artist’s palette tints from yellow through ochre and orange to scarlet.

‘No, but I like the beach in winter. When I was younger Uncle Roy used to take me on long walks, especially after a storm. You’d be amazed at the things we found washed up – tables, chairs, shoes, bricks – and when it began to get dark we’d go home, and Auntie Norah would be waiting with the fire stoked high and home-made cake and bread ready for toasting in front of the parlour fire ...’

‘Is that a hint that if I bring you down here in winter I’ll have to arrange the welcome-back fire and food first?’

‘No.’ She coloured in embarrassment. ‘I was just trying to say ...’

‘That you like walking in winter.’ He caught her hand, holding it as they turned towards Mumbles. ‘Do you want to do anything when we get there? Have an ice cream, coffee, window-shop?’

‘Window-shopping sounds fun.’

‘Really? Most ...’

‘Girls you know.’

‘I left myself wide open for that one.’

‘Alternatively we could just walk to Mumbles, sit on the beach until the sun sets and get the train back.’

‘Whatever you like.’

‘Is Helen still angry with us?’

‘Why should she be angry with us?’

‘I mean, Katie, Judy and me. She was furious because we didn’t call for her when we went to Mumbles on Sunday.’

‘She couldn’t have gone anywhere on Sunday. My mother threatened to send her to my aunt’s farmhouse in Carmarthen if she as much as tried to set foot over the front doorstep.’

‘I know, but when Katie and I tried to explain why we hadn’t called she refused to listen.’

‘Helen can be stupid as well as stubborn and Sunday wasn’t her best day. She’s calmed down since then. She’s spent most of her time cleaning out the basement and all that dusting, polishing and beating of carpets has taken the edge off her aggression. I went down there yesterday. She’s organised a sitting room for when you girls come round again.’

‘I’ll work on Auntie Norah. Perhaps she’ll allow Katie and me to call on her tomorrow.’

‘I’d wait until my mother was out if I were you.’

‘How would we know whether she’s in or out?’

‘I’ll come round and tell you. I’ll even sit in the basement with you.’

Not quite knowing how to respond to his offer, she looked away. There was hardly anyone else on the beach. Way in the distance at the dock end of the bay a man was exercising two spaniels. Close to Mumbles she could just about make out a solitary woman with what looked like a terrier on a lead.

‘We could watch the sunset from that dune.’

‘We could.’ Her heart began to beat faster.

Leading her towards the edge of the beach where the sand was broken by great clumps of coarse grass, he took off his mac and spread it on the ground.

‘You’ll get cold,’ she warned.

‘Not if you snuggle up close and keep me warm.’ As they sat next to one another he wrapped his arm round her shoulders. ‘Put your hands under my pullover.’

‘They’re freezing.’

Taking them, he tucked them beneath his Aran sweater against his chest. Conscious just how cold they were, she tightened her fists as small as she could.

‘Keep them still.’

‘Sorry.’

‘And stop apologising, that’s definitely your worst fault, being sorry for everything even when it’s not your fault.’ He blew on the tip of her nose. ‘You’re turning blue. I wish it were the beginning of summer, not the end. But there’s always next summer.’

‘Will you be here?’

‘On the beach?’

‘I meant Swansea.’

‘Not too far away,’ he murmured seriously. ‘I have a lot to stay here for.’

‘You’ll be qualified.’

‘And working, heading for the grown-up world.’ As he gazed into her eyes he couldn’t understand Robin and Emily wanting to prolong their courtship. He could think of nothing he wanted more than marriage to Lily. He’d even begun to plan out his life with her. As soon as he turned twenty-one he’d raid his trust fund to buy a small, cosy house with an enormous garden somewhere in the country close to the BBC in Llandaff. When he came home at night he’d close the curtains and shut out the world; they’d sit in front of the fire and watch the flames while they ate and afterwards make slow, languorous love on the hearthrug ...

‘Look.’ An enormous tanker loomed on the horizon, dwarfing the yachts circling in the bay.

‘When I was younger I used to come down here to watch the ocean-going ships sail in and out of the docks. I was so sure then that I’d leave Swansea on one of them. Travel round the world, make my fortune and return with chests stuffed full of treasure.’

‘Like Dick Whittington.’

‘Oh, much richer than him.’ He laughed. ‘My father destroyed that particular fantasy when I was eight by taking Helen and me across to Ilfracombe on a day trip. Our return wasn’t at all like I imagined.’

‘Uncle Roy and Auntie Norah took me on one of those trips too.’

‘We could go again – together.’

‘I’d like that.’ ‘

‘Do you mean that, or will you always see me as Helen’s older brother?’

‘You’ll always be Helen’s older brother.’

‘I suppose I will,’ he murmured, not thinking about what he was saying. Slipping his fingers beneath her chin, he tilted up her face and kissed her. His touch was so light, so gentle that afterwards she couldn’t be sure it had happened. She drew back, ashamed of herself for expecting more after last night.

He looked into her eyes before bending his head to hers a second time, and this time the touch of his lips on hers was firmer, more assured, and as his hands slid round to her back, she finally put all thoughts of his other girls from her mind.

‘John ...’

‘Is something wrong, Norah?’

‘We’ve had a call from the hospital.’ John heard a sharp intake of breath as Norah fought to keep control. ‘Annie died a few minutes ago. Roy’s gone for the boys. Can you bring Katie home?’

‘Do you want me to tell her?’ he asked, amazed to find himself volunteering for the task.

‘Whatever you think best.’

‘And if she asks what happened?’ John spoke quietly and calmly, in an attempt to force Norah to concentrate on practical matters.

‘From the symptoms, the doctor thinks it might have been a brain haemorrhage. He said it was not an entirely unexpected complication, given the severity of her injuries, but there was nothing he or anyone else could have done to save Annie, even if they had known it was going to happen. As Roy said, she has taken a lot of battering over the years. Roy’s bringing the boys here ...’

‘Don’t worry about Katie, I’ll get her to you as soon as I can.’ John put down the receiver and picked up his jacket from the back of his chair. Checking his car keys were in the pocket, he went to the door. Katie was sitting ashen-faced at her desk. He looked at her and realised she knew. ‘Get your coat, Katie,’ he murmured gently.

Dry-eyed, she walked like an automaton to the coatstand.

John picked up the telephone receiver and hit the button that connected to the warehouse floor. ‘Geoff, I have to go out. You’re in charge and, given the time, you’ll have to close up tonight ... No, don’t take the takings to my house ...’ He watched Katie button on the new grey woollen coat she had bought with the advance he had given her. She’d mismatched the top and second buttons and the hem hung uneven, lending her a quality even more urchin and orphan-like than usual. Orphan-like ... ‘That’s right, Geoff, straight to the night safe. Take Mike and Alan along with you for security. Don’t worry about up here. I’ll lock the office.’ He replaced the receiver.

‘Katie?’

She looked so lost and forlorn; John did what he would have done if she had been his own daughter. Opening his arms, he held her tight before leading her gently out of the building to his car.

‘The bastard! The bloody bastard!’ Beside himself with rage, Jack slammed his fist into Norah’s kitchen wall.

‘Jack, come on now, there’s a good lad.’ Roy pulled him back. Holding Jack’s wrists firmly in his hands, he examined his knuckles. ‘Do that again and you’ll likely break some bones, and that won’t help anyone.’

As tears of pure rage, frustration and despair began to fall from Jack’s eyes, Roy signalled to Norah.

‘Would you and Jack like to be alone for a bit, Martin?’ she asked.

‘Please, Mrs Evans,’ Martin accepted gratefully.

‘I’ll send Katie in when she gets here. If you need us before then, we’ll be in the parlour.’ Roy and Norah closed the door behind them.

‘All that bloody effort to get rooms and decorate them! All that bloody work for nothing. Mam will never set foot in them, never see them, never know how much we wanted to get her away from him ...’