Swansea Girls (5 page)

‘You’re honoured, Lily.’ Helen checked the buttons on her coat were fastened as Judy and Katie smoothed down their dresses.

‘See you later.’ Ignoring the stares and ribald comments directed at his bow tie and dinner jacket, Joe returned to the car.

‘I hope not,’ Helen countered through the open window.

‘You’ll be making your way home at half past ten?’

‘Too early for you to leave your party.’

‘We’ll see.’ Pressing the ignition, he drove on slowly through the crowds.

‘He’s never going to drive up that steep hill.’

‘He’s idiot enough to do anything, Judy,’ Helen bit back crossly. ‘And if he does come to fetch us it’ll be your fault, Lily. He’s after you.’

‘Joe? Don’t be silly.’

‘Has he ever offered us a lift on a Saturday night before?’

‘I’ve never known him to have the car on a Saturday night before.’ Judy brushed a minute fleck of face powder from her skirt.

‘That’s right, take Lily’s side.’

‘Side. What side?’ Judy stared resolutely ahead as a wolf whistle echoed from behind them.

‘I wish ...’

‘You hadn’t worn that frock? I saw the blue satin when we sat in the back of the car.’

‘Think you know everything, don’t you, Judy Hunt.’ Helen stalked ahead, tottering on her three-inch heels as two more wolf whistles resounded towards them.

Chapter Three

‘Marty, it’s nice to see you. Our Adam said you were back and you boys were off out tonight. Come in, I’ve just wet the tea, have a cup with me while Adam finishes titivating himself.’ Doris Jordan flung the door wide, inviting Martin in.

‘Thank you, Mrs Jordan.’ Martin stepped inside, self-consciously lugging his case.

‘Leaving home?’

‘I thought it was time.’

‘Oh!’ Doris turned away to hide her embarrassment as she walked into the back kitchen and lifted a couple of cups and saucers down from the dresser. Ernie was well-known in the street and there wasn’t a woman who didn’t feel sorry for his wife and children.

‘Well, there’s a double bed in our Adam’s room. You’re welcome to stay until you get sorted.’

‘That’s very kind but I was hoping you’d have a room that I could rent ...’

‘You pay us rent? I wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘I’m really looking for somewhere I can take Jack, Katie and Mam, Mrs Jordan.’

‘Your mam wants to leave your dad?’ she asked carefully.

‘Not exactly,’ he hedged, ‘but if I had somewhere to take her, I thought she might change her mind about staying with him.’

‘If I had room you’d be more than welcome. But Mrs Atkins has lived in our basement for the last fourteen years and isn’t looking to move, and the only way they’ll be taking Bert Jones out of our top-floor flat is in a box. But I’ll keep my ears open and the minute I hear of something I’ll let you know.’

‘That’s very good of you ...’

‘Not another word. Stay as long as you like. It will be good for our Adam to have company. Now, sit down and tell me all about the foreign parts the army sent you to. Your mam told me you were in Germany and some island with a funny name.’

‘Cyprus, Mrs Jordan.’

‘That’s it.’ She put three of her home-made shortbread biscuits into the saucer of his teacup before handing it to him. She wouldn’t have dreamed of asking what had gone on between his father and the rest of his family but she wanted him to know that her sympathies lay entirely with him, not his father, and food was the only way she had of expressing her feelings. ‘Some people’ – she lowered her voice, as though the room were full of eavesdroppers – ‘like Mrs Hoity-Toity Griffiths think conscription is a bad idea. I think it gives boys like you and our Adam a chance to get on. Adam said you’ve come back to a mechanic’s job with the council and you know our Adam has passed as high as he can go.’

‘He told me he’d taken his Civil Service entrance.’ Martin was too polite to smile. Like most women of her class and generation, Doris Jordan believed education was an excellent and desirable thing but Martin also realised that she no more understood the system of examinations and qualifications than she understood the mystery of electricity.

‘He’s set for life, now,’ Doris continued solemnly. ‘My Arnold said he never thought he’d see the day when a son of his went into an office but our Adam’s starting on Monday. In the Land Registry,’ she added proudly. ‘And look at you.’

‘I’m only doing what I did before I went away, Mrs Jordan. Apprenticed to the mechanics in the Council Depot.’

‘Our Adam said you passed your examinations.’

‘Only the army ones, I’ve one more to go.’ Martin looked to the door, wondering what could be taking Adam so long.

‘Well, the army ones must have been a help. That Mrs Griffiths, do you know what she said. “When boys get university degrees, they shouldn’t be subjected to two years of mindless square bashing with the common herd.” As if you or our Adam are “the common herd.” Of course, she was talking about her precious Joseph. No one else in the terrace can afford to let their children remain idle until they’re twenty-one. And her Joseph wouldn’t be either, if his father didn’t work all the hours God sends in that warehouse to keep him. That boy could do with a bit of square bashing to knock some sense into him. Between you and me, he’s been spoiled.’

‘Who’s been spoiled, Mam?’ Adam walked in, his best white shirt flapping over his suit trousers.

‘That Joseph Griffiths, that’s who.’

‘Joe’s all right. Bought me a pint when I came home.’

‘Students shouldn’t have the money to go to pubs and buy drinks but I hope you bought him one back.’

‘Course.’ He winked at Martin. ‘Can’t have the Griffithses thinking we’re charity cases, can we?’

‘Not now you’re in the Civil Service, we can’t. Come here.’ She took the cuff links he was holding from him. ‘Look at you. Two years in the army and you still can’t dress yourself.’

‘Thanks, Mam.’ Adam lifted her off her feet as she straightened his sleeves.

‘Put me down. You’re not so big you can’t feel the back of my hand. Go and clear space in your wardrobe and one of your drawers for Marty.’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Jordan, really. I’m hoping to sort myself out with something permanent tomorrow.’

‘You moving in?’ Adam looked at his friend in surprise.

‘For now.’ Mrs Jordan fought to free herself from her son’s grip as he lowered her to the floor. ‘Go on, take Marty’s case up to your bedroom while he finishes his tea.’

‘I warn you, Marty, she’s worse than any sergeant. It’s nothing but orders from morning till night.’

‘I’ll give you ...’

‘What, Mam?’ Adam grinned.

Martin sat back in the cosy kitchen that was so much more comfortable than his mother’s for all its homemade rag-rugs and patchwork cushions, and listened to the easy banter. He wished it could have been the same in his parents’ basement. The atmosphere in the Jordan’s kitchen was no different when Adam’s father was home. Quiet, easy-going, Mr Jordan’s idea of indulging himself was a radio play or sitting down with a newspaper and his pipe. The only time he set foot in a pub was early on a Saturday evening to buy half a pint of mild and the bottle of sherry that he and his wife took on their weekly visit to Adam’s grandmother. Martin had never seen him drunk or heard him raise his voice to his wife or sons. If only ...

‘Another biscuit, Martin?’

‘No, thank you, Mrs Jordan.’

‘Growing boy like you needs nourishment.’

‘You going to Gran’s, Mam?’ Adam asked as he returned.

‘If your father ever gets home with that sherry. I’ve never known a man take so long to buy a bottle. I think he must have gone to Cardiff to get it.’ She watched Adam reach for his jacket. ‘Can I ask where you two are going?’

‘You can ask.’

‘You’re not telling?’

‘It’s Saturday night, Mam.’

‘Then you’re going drinking.’ She crossed her arms.

‘We may have one or two.’

‘Not in one of those nasty rough pubs down the docks.’

‘Mam!’

‘We’ll probably go to the White Rose, Mrs Jordan.’ Martin could understand Adam’s reluctance to submit to his mother’s interrogation after semi-independent army life but he also liked Mrs Jordan.

‘As long as you stop after two. But you’d be much better off going to the Pier and meeting some nice girls like Mrs Hunt’s Judy or Lily Sullivan. Boys your age should be courting.’

‘No good me looking at Lily, Mam. Marty’s had his eye on her since he was six.’

‘I have not.’

‘No shame if you have, nice girl like that. You know she’s a banker now.’

‘She’s a typist who works in a bank, Mam.’

Doris sailed on, ignoring her son. ‘Norah did well by keeping that girl on in school and sending her to technological college. She passed all her exams, you know, as high as she could go.’

‘Lily’s a bright girl.’ Adam opened the door. ‘Time we were off.’

‘Here, your suit’s got white bits all over the shoulders. Whatever have you been leaning against?’

‘Nothing I know about,’ Adam protested as his mother took a clothes brush, marked
A present from Tenby
from a hook behind the door and gave his jacket a good going over.

‘You fit then?’

‘As I’ll ever be.’ Martin rose to his feet as Mrs Jordan replaced the brush on the hook.

Adam kissed the top of his mother’s head. ‘Don’t wait up.’

‘You’ll be wanting your supper.’

‘We’ll stop for chips, Mam.’

‘I don’t know, you boys today, filling yourselves up with stuff and rubbish.’

‘Don’t you worry, Mrs Jordan, I’ll take care of him.’

‘See that you do, Marty,’ Doris warned, not altogether humorously.

‘I don’t recognise that car.’ Mrs Murton Davies frowned as a Rover edged slowly down her drive towards the gravelled parking area at the side of the substantial three-storied Edwardian villa that dominated the cliff top above Caswell Bay.

Mrs Watkin Morgan followed her line of vision. ‘It’s the Griffiths boy. That’s his father’s car; he hasn’t one of his own.’

‘Do we know him?’

‘Larry and Robin do, he’s at university with them.’

‘There was a time when being at university meant something, unfortunately not any more.’ Mrs Murton Davies signalled to a waiter to bring the champagne tray to the bench they were sitting on. ‘Is he a scholarship boy?’

‘He went to grammar school.’

‘I see.’ Mrs Murton Davies pursed her lips, tightening the fine lines round her mouth.

‘His mother was in school with us. Pretty girl, bright, you must remember her – Esme Harris. She does a lot with the Little Theatre these days.’

‘The headmaster’s daughter?’

‘The teachers thought she’d go far. She proved them wrong.’

‘Wasn’t there some sort of scandal there? Didn’t she have to marry young, a dreadful man who’d been horribly scarred in a fire, lived in town and worked in a clothes shop.’

‘Warehouse, actually, Griffiths’s Wholesale, he inherited it from his grandfather.’ Mrs Watkin Morgan lifted a champagne glass from the waiter’s tray. ‘He’s done rather well for himself. The warehouse is quite popular these days and he’s not long opened Elegance, that chic little fashion place on Newton Road. I’m only surprised Esme hasn’t insisted they move out to a better area.’

‘But the boy can hardly be our sort. I’m surprised Larry invited him.’

‘Joe’s very good-looking and positively oozes charm, just like his grandfather the headmaster. Angie adores him.’

‘You know him socially?’

‘As much as anyone ever knows a student socially. He and Robin are close.’

‘I’ve tried to instil a sense of responsibility into Larry when it comes to the friends he brings home. We simply can’t be too careful with three girls in the house. They’re at that impressionable age. Introduce them to the wrong sort and we could have a disaster on our hands – like Esme Harris,’ she added snidely.

‘Richard Thomas is the Griffithses’ solicitor.’

‘I’m surprised they feel the need to have one.’

‘He mentioned some time ago that the boy has a substantial trust fund. His grandfather’s sister set it up. She had no children and apparently looked on Joseph as her own.’

‘How large is substantial?’

‘You know Richard, he wouldn’t be drawn on figures but he did say that between the income from the trust and the house – you do know that his grandmother is leaving him the house?’

‘The ten-bedroomed one above Langland?’

‘I believe that is the only one she owns.’

‘What about Esme?’

‘Mrs Harris never did approve of her marrying that man. She tells everyone who’ll listen she cut her daughter out of her will the day she announced her engagement. Richard says young Joseph’s going to be a wealthy man one day and whatever Richard says you can take as given.’

‘Wealthy and well-educated if he’s at university,’ Mrs Murton Davies mused. With three daughters on her hands, there weren’t so many independent, eligible young men available that she could afford to ignore one. ‘What is he reading?’

‘English, he’s taken a research job with the BBC for the summer with Robin. Rumour has it, the powers that be are impressed.’

‘So he could be heading for a career in broadcasting?’

‘He could.’ Mrs Watkin Morgan smiled as she read her friend’s rather obvious train of thought. ‘He’s certainly talented. Two of his poems were published in this month’s
Gower.’

‘Larry must introduce him to the girls. They’re so fond of poetry.’ Mrs Murton Davies’s frown deepened, as Mrs Watkin Morgan’s smile widened. Angela Watkin Morgan was halfway across the lawn. As they watched, the girl stepped on to the gravel, bypassed the fleet of open-topped sports cars and opened the door of Joseph’s Rover.

‘Darling Joseph, as handsome as ever. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed you.’

Joe brushed his lips across the cheek Angela offered him before locking his father’s car. ‘No, I wouldn’t, not from what Robin’s been telling me about your exploits. How were London and France?’ He stood back and looked at her. She seemed taller, slimmer, older and more sophisticated than when she had left Swansea in April for what her mother called ‘the season’. He’d expected to admire her less and feel more at seeing her for the first time since their separation. But she was still the pretty girl he had lost his heart to last winter. The only thing that surprised him was the realisation that since then he had somehow managed to retrieve it.

‘Bor-ing! Full of silly girls chasing chinless boys, but don’t tell Mother that.’ She took his arm. ‘She thinks she’s done me a favour by making me a deb.’

‘You were looking forward to it before you left,’ he murmured absently, mesmerised by the vista that stretched from the front lawn of the house down to Caswell Bay. Gower scenery never failed to take his breath away, making him glad he lived so close to so much unspoilt coastline and envious of those who could afford to live within sight and sound of the sea.

‘I was, after listening to Mother’s stories. But then, as she said, and often since April, it was all
so
different for debs in her day. They had proper evening frocks, arrived at the Palace in chauffeur-driven cars and were given evening buffet on gold plate. I had a short afternoon frock my mother picked out. It was hideous. The skirt looked like a chiffon lampshade and after we’d made our curtseys all we got was tea and ghastly little cakes. The whole time I was there, I kept wishing I were back here with you.’

‘Poor Angie, it really must have been a let-down.’

‘I’m serious, Joe. I’m sorry I said those awful things to you before I left.’