Gull Island Page 2

  ‘How could you see your way in this? Daft I call it to go out in a little boat in such weather.’ Unaccountably she was angry for the risks he had taken.

  ‘I’ve only been around to the next bay to visit a friend,’ the young man replied as he dragged the boat up onto the shingle. ‘Here, catch this and tie her to that post, will you?’ As she fumbled with the rope he stepped lightly across the rocks and took it from her. ‘Here, like this.’ Taking the rope, he showed her the way to tie it with a bowline.

  She couldn’t guess the stranger’s age. Perhaps he was younger than herself, perhaps older. She thought he would look the same ten years from now. He was quite small, hardly taller than she was, five feet three at a guess. He was lean, thin even, and his fair hair, bleached almost white by the summer sun, was long and straight, almost touching his shoulders and adding to the illusion of extreme slimness. His eyes, she noticed with fascination, were the colour of the sea and the skin around them was wrinkled as though he spent his days with them half closed against the glare of the sun on the sea.

  He wore a shabby jumper from which threads of wool hung in fringes over his hands and across his neck. His trousers barely reached mid-calf and if there had been hems they had been lost for many months, so, matching the jumper, a fringe escaped the carelessly rolled-up ends like a family of spiders having a free ride.

  The clothes, she thought with a frown, were misleading. The boy, or young man, was no pauper. His voice was without a strong local accent and he sounded what Barbara’s friends would call ‘swanky’. There was an air of confidence about him too that suggested he could afford to dress well if he chose. She forgot her recent alarms, her daydreams and her irritation at being interrupted and was filled with curiosity.

  ‘Live near here, do you?’ she asked as she followed him up from the now-chilly beach towards the old cottages. ‘I bet you live in that posh house beyond the beach with timber beams and dozens of chimneys.’

  ‘That place has been empty for years, although a relation of mine once owned it.’ He smiled and gestured towards the cottages. ‘These smaller places belong to my father and I stay here sometimes.’ He looked at her, his eyes still remarkably matching the colour of the sea moving gently behind him. ‘I have the makings of tea if you fancy a cup. You look as though you could do with warming up. No milk, I’m afraid.’

  She hesitated, wanting to go but half afraid. ‘Oh, I don’t think I could drink tea without milk, thanks all the same.’

  ‘Putting in extra sugar helps.’ His smile lit up his face, giving it an almost roguish look. ‘You don’t have to be afraid. I don’t bite or pounce on lovely young women.’

  She smiled back, intrigued by his almost piratical appearance and casual, easy manner. He was different from anyone else she had ever met. This adventure would be something to tell Bernard about when he came home – something to add to that other news.

  The cottage to which he led her was surprisingly neat inside. Built of yellowish stone with a pattern of red sandstone around the windows and doorways, there was a strong smell of dampness as she entered the storm porch but once inside the living room, a chintz-covered chair and a bowl of wild flowers gave the place a brightness and warmth. She stood for a moment, her head hardly moving but her large pale-blue eyes widening and absorbing the unexpectedly pleasant sight.

  The young man put a match to the fire and, leaving her to explore, busied himself with a paraffin stove and a tin kettle. While she looked in amazement at the long line of books on a stone shelf, which smelled of damp and showed signs of mildew, he made tea and put the tray on the floor in front of the spluttering fire.

  ‘My name is Luke. Who are you?’

  ‘Barbara. Barbara Jones but I think I’ll be changing it very soon.’ Did she imagine the slight frown that crossed his face? Was there a hint of disappointment at the news of her marrying? She silently laughed off the vanity and in her embarrassment at the way her thoughts had travelled, she blurted out, ‘Mam told me this morning I’m going to have a baby, see, and when Bernard knows he’ll marry me for sure. Then I’ll be Barbara Stock.’

  ‘What will you do, Barbara, if he – well, if you decide not to marry this Bernard?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she gasped. The thought of Bernard letting her down simply hadn’t occurred to her. She stared at him. Suddenly all the fears and uncertainties flooded in and she was chilled as if by immersion in icy water. Her eyes widened and her teeth chattered. She crouched nearer to the warmth of the fire, not wanting to look at the serious-faced stranger. Why had she told him? He was staring at her when she eventually looked at him again, the frown on his face deepening.

  ‘Don’t let them make you give her away. She’s yours and you must keep her, watch her grow and she’ll fill every day with joy.’

  ‘She? You think it will be a girl? Funny, I hadn’t got round to wondering whether it will be a girl or a boy.’

  ‘It will be a girl and you must call her Rosita.’

  ‘There’s a fancy name for a Jones!’

  ‘Jones? Then you don’t think this Bernard will marry you?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Of course he will! I wasn’t thinking—’

  ‘But if he doesn’t, you won’t let them take the baby away and kill it, or give it to someone else to raise, will you? Please tell me you won’t.’

  ‘Bernard and I will be married. She, or he, will be ours.’

  ‘But if he doesn’t?’ he insisted urgently.

  ‘If you insist on my saying it, all right, if I don’t marry Bernard, then I’ll keep the baby.’ He looked so serious she was laughing, confident in the outcome. ‘All right then? Satisfied?’

  ‘Good. Now if you’ve finished your tea I’ll walk a part of the way with you. I have to go back myself soon but an hour won’t matter. There are plenty of trains to Cardiff. Are you ready? Your mother will be worrying, especially if you’ve only just learned about Rosita.’

  ‘Rosita?’ She laughed.

  ‘Rosita.’ He hugged her and added, ‘My mother was called Rosita. I’d like to think that somewhere in the world there’ll be a little girl who carries her name.’

  They walked back along the silent, mist-enshrouded lanes, the hedges on either side of them like walls separating them from the rest of the world. A cotton-wool world in which they were alone. Barbara was warmed by Luke’s company and by his matter-of-fact approach to her situation so that the shock of the morning was becoming an accepted fact and something with which she could deal without difficulty. Apart from the baby and the love and happiness she would surely bring to her, Luke had talked mostly about the sea and the fish he caught and the journeys he would one day make, when the war was over and he was free.

  ‘Free? Good heavens, Luke, look at you, how could you be more free?’ she laughed.

  ‘Tomorrow I go back to that other life.’

  ‘You aren’t in the army, are you? You don’t look old enough.’

  ‘I’ll be twenty at Christmas. Christmas Day, in fact. No, the army wouldn’t have me – my chest is the problem apparently.’

  ‘Mam has worked in the munitions factory but only for a while. Dad works in a soap factory and grows vegetables. That’s the extent of the Joneses’ contribution to the war effort, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Nothing so honourable for me. I have a second-hand bookshop. Hardly a blow against the enemy. I did try several times to enlist but they refused me. A friend of mine is in France. His name is Roy Thomas. He and I have been close friends since we were little more than babies. His family is where I think of as home, especially since my mother died. Their home is as noisy and relaxed as mine is silent and disapproving.’ They walked on for a while and Barbara waited, sensing his need to tell her more.

  ‘Roy writes cheerful letters but I think the men are going through hell. I wish I were there too. I know it isn’t the thing but I miss Roy very much.’

  ‘What d’you mean it isn’t the thing? If he’s your friend, why shouldn’
t you miss him?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just that our families are so different and …’ He allowed the sentence to hang in the air unfinished and Barbara guessed it was something he didn’t feel able to tell her.

  ‘Do you really wish you were out there, in France? I confess I’m glad not to have to face it. Loving friend or not, I’m thankful I’m not expected to go.’

  ‘You’re a woman, designed for more gentle things.’

  He smiled and Barbara smiled back; the awkward moment had passed. It was the only moment in which there had been any uneasiness between them. She wondered about Roy Thomas, and experienced a slight feeling of envy at the unknown man’s ability to spoil the unlikely friendship between herself and this unusual man. But she didn’t attempt to bring the conversation back to him.

  As they reached the end of the lane that took them away from the beach, they heard voices and the laughter of children. Coming towards them through the hazy evening was a group of youngsters. One was pulling a homemade bogie – a wooden soap box with a long plank for steering and to which old pram wheels had been added.

  Barbara smiled as she recognized the Carey family. Richard, the five-year-old, was helping to steer the cart and beside him, fast asleep, was his baby sister Blodwen. A solemn child even in sleep, she was propped upright, jammed in with cushions, the colours of which had faded to a greyish brown. Also in the party were Billie, aged ten, and Gareth, aged seven. The oldest Careys, twin girls Ada and Dilys, were far too aloof to share this escapade. Alun, at twelve, was already chasing girls. Mrs Carey kept her favourite, Idris, close to her, rarely letting him join in any of the activities arranged by the rest.

  ‘What are you doing so far from home?’ Barbara demanded.

  It was Richard who answered. ‘There’s bound to be some firewood washed up on the beach so we’re getting some for Mam.’ He gestured behind him and coming into sight was a second bogie cart pulled by another of his brothers, the eight-year-old Jack. Barbara noted that although only five, Richard was the one organizing the little procession.

  ‘Come back with me now this minute!’ Barbara said angrily. ‘Your mam’ll kill the lot of you!’

  ‘Not without wood.’ Richard’s jaw was pushed out in a stubborn expression.

  ‘But it’s late and almost dark.’

  ‘We’ve walked a long way for to go home with nothing,’ his brother Billie added. ‘Come on, you lot, we can cut across the fields from here.’

  ‘The tide’s up.’ Barbara hoped that would decide the matter. ‘Best you come another day.’

  Totally ignoring her, the small group dragged the carts up the bank and through the hedge and when the sleeping child threatened to fall out, Luke ran to help them. ‘Who are they all?’ he whispered as he lifted the ungainly bogie down onto the field.

  ‘They all belong to Auntie Molly Carey, the neighbour I’ve been telling you about. No sense in any of them.’

  ‘Come on, Barbara, we might as well give them a hand since they’re going to do it anyway. Follow me,’ he said to Richard the leader. ‘I know exactly where the best spots are.’ He offered a hand to Barbara and helped her up the bank and into the field, then he lifted the still-sleeping baby from her blankets and cushions on the bogie and carried her across the bumpy surface of the field. The mist hindered their view but Luke knew the way and the rest – led by Richard – followed without question. Bemused, smiling, young enough to enjoy the unexpected, Barbara followed.

  Luke worked hard, filling the small carts and even lending them a wheelbarrow which they also filled with some of the larger pieces that wouldn’t fit into the bogies. He walked with them to the end of their street, singing songs and making the children laugh when they showed signs of fatigue. His appearance was more piratical than ever when they reached the first of the street lamps. His thin face was streaked with dirt and sweat, his eyes gleamed and laughter showed the whiteness of his teeth against the tanned skin.

  For part of the way, Barbara carried the straight-faced Blodwen and Luke gave a piggy-back ride to a very sleepy Richard. He encouraged the others with praise, smiling at Barbara, sharing his obvious happiness at being a part of a family group. Barbara was happy too and her imaginings were of a future filled with outings just like this one. Hers and Bernard’s with Rosita and her younger brothers and sisters.

  ‘Roy Thomas’s family is like this,’ Luke said. ‘They’re always finding new ways of enjoying themselves, content with simple things and always ready to burst into laughter.’

  ‘Your family are more serious?’

  ‘Sober sides, the lot of them! Mother was different, she was the sunshine of the house, but now she’s gone there’s very little to laugh at. In fact, laughter is considered to be rather “common”.’

  Luke pushed the wheelbarrow to the Careys’ gate in the back lane, tipped the contents out in the small garden then, with a wave and a blown kiss, he left. His final words to Barbara were, ‘Look after Rosita. Keep her safe, she’s very important.’

  Night had intensified the mist into an almost impenetrable blackness lit only by the filtered light from the occasional street lamp when the rest of the bedraggled procession trooped into the Careys’ house They were greeted by screams of relief followed by clouts and recriminations. Leaving them to argue their case, Barbara went home to face recriminations of her own.

  The small living-cum-everything-else room of the Careys’ was filled so they could hardly move with them all in there at the same time. Somehow Mrs Carey made cocoa for them all and handed the eclectic collection of china around to stretching hands. First to be given his cup was her golden boy, Idris. She knew she shouldn’t have a favourite but he was so beautiful and so full of charm how could she help it?

  Idris was very different from the other Carey children. His hair, instead of being a shade of brown, was almost yellow and thickly curled so his head was that of a cherub on a religious painting. His eyes were as blue as his father’s but with such a gentle and innocent expression that Mrs Carey stood for minutes at a time just admiring her creation with utter joy. The children were given two biscuits each and Idris was slyly handed the broken remains of a third. Richard saw this and smiled condescendingly. Idris was welcome to Mam’s special favours. He wasn’t a spoilt child like Idris, nor would he want to be. He was already his father’s partner, almost a man.

  Outside the back gate, where one wall of the ty bach formed a part of the boundary, Barbara stood and listened to the lively chatter within the house. She knew that when she went home there would be no cheering welcome. She felt a surge of sympathy for Luke, the stranger who had come into her life and become a friend. She shared with him the isolation of a home where laughter was frowned upon as ‘common’. With a last look over the wall towards the lamp-lit room beyond the long garden, she moved away. Now she must think of herself and her baby and of course, Bernard, who loved her and would soon be returning to her.

  She remembered the evening’s events and smiled despite the encroaching anxiety at the confrontation with her father that must be waiting for her. When she married Bernard, she would create an atmosphere of happiness and laughter just as Auntie Molly Carey had done. Perhaps Luke would be a regular visitor and help show her how.

  Chapter Two

  FOR THE SECOND time that day, Barbara steeled herself to face her mother’s wrath. As she opened the front door of the terraced house she paused momentarily to listen to the sounds from within. Loud conversations were in progress and with a tensing of her jaw she recognized the deep voice of her father. He was either late going to the pub or home early. She wondered apprehensively if he had delayed his regular evening visit to wait for her – if so he’d had plenty of time to build up a rage.

  ‘Hello, Mam, sorry I’m late. Been gathering firewood, would you believe. Me and them daft Carey kids. Over by Gull Island. There was plenty on the beach after last week’s storm. Young Richard’s idea, it was, mind—’ Her attempt to allay the row that was quivering in
the air was halted as her father stood up and raised his hand to strike her. He was stopped by her mother, whose pointing finger then told her to sit down. In the corner, hoping she wouldn’t be noticed and told to leave, was Barbara’s sister Freda.

  Mr Jones was not a big man but in the small room he seemed, to a frightened Barbara, to be enormous. She had never seen him look this angry. Normally a mild, indifferent man, he was little more than the furnishings of her daily life but now he looked like a stranger and she trembled with fear.

  His pale blue eyes were deep set, deeper now as he screwed up his cheeks to display his anger, becoming lost in the folds. The furious face loomed large as he leaned towards her, and she noticed how fat his face had become. His chin was surrounded by a tyre of fat from which pale bristles were obtruding. He shaved twice each week, on a Tuesday when he and Mam went to the pictures and on Friday when he went to the local pub to celebrate the receipt of his wage packet. She compared him, even in this frightening moment, to the beautiful dark leanness of Bernard Stock and felt a longing for her loved one soar inside her.

  ‘What have you been doing, girl,’ her father hissed, ‘disgracing us all. Disgusted with you I am! I can’t face my mates for the shame of it.’

  ‘No one knows yet, Dad,’ Barbara whispered, her voice quivering and sounding like that of a stranger. ‘I didn’t know myself till Mam told me this morning and I haven’t seen the doctor yet.’

  ‘You’ll see no doctor!’ her mother snapped. ‘Best for us all if we keep this to ourselves.’

  ‘But Mam, people are sure to see before long and—’

  ‘No one need know if you do as you’re told. You’ll see Mrs Block in the morning. I’ve already told the shop you won’t be in for a couple of days and we’ll see an end to it.’

  ‘What d’you mean? See an end to it?’ What Auntie Molly Carey had told her about getting rid of unwanted babies filled her mind with terrifying images. She looked to her father for support but he, seeing the embarrassment of women’s talk brewing, hurriedly prepared to leave.