Time to Move On Page 4

  She knew she wasn’t far from Cwm Derw and wasn’t surprised to see, with the aid of a torch, a signpost that announced she was approaching the town. She thought she might call on Babs and Tony. Even on a Sunday there was sure be a bus to take her back to the hotel, or Babs would take her in the firm’s van.

  The first flash of lightning and crack of thunder reached her as she was passing the houses set back from the lane and she instinctively ducked as though avoiding a missile. The rain increased suddenly as though being poured from directly above her and she scuttled towards the nearest gateway and ran up the path to huddle against the front door for the little shelter it offered.

  Furious with herself for being so foolish, she stood there, isolated by the curtain of rain and the dull roar of its ferocity. She wished she had worn a mackintosh instead of the woollen coat. Changing position to ease the cold, wet garment away from her legs, she leant on the door and it gave way, catapulting her inside to land in an undignified heap in the hallway.

  She leapt up and stared around in vain, the darkness complete. Her sight gradually made out a little of her surroundings and she knew she was in a hallway. Deciding it was best to announce her presence in case her uninvited arrival had alarmed the occupant, she called, ‘Hello? I’m terribly sorry but the door gave way and …’

  There was no reply, only her own voice echoing back mockingly. The place had a hollow feel and she guessed it was unoccupied. She shone her torch through a doorway and saw a kitchen and her impression was confirmed. Shelves were bare and cupboard doors hung open revealing their emptiness. There was none of the usual clutter, just a long table and a few chairs. Although the afternoon was dark and cold, and no place would have looked bright and cheerful, it was not just missing its occupants, it was completely deserted.

  After calling a few more times and shivering with the cold, she began to cautiously explore. Venturing into what was the living-room, which, like the kitchen, was sparsely furnished, she then tiptoed back and sat in the kitchen staring out at the wildness beyond the windows. Thunder and lighting were in unison, the storm was overhead. She took off her dripping coat and hung it over a chair, her shivering ceased and she relaxed.

  She wondered if her mother was worried. Childishly she hoped she was. She thought gloomily about how her life had been disrupted by the appearance of Paul in her mother’s life.

  Although Seranne sometimes regretted giving up on a life of her own, failing to make friends as she concentrated on helping her mother at the tea rooms, she accepted the social limitations and was almost content. Now, several years on, apart from a few niggles of unease, she had begun to accept that at twenty-two her life was set and she would continue in the same way until she became too old to try something new.

  As she sat in the kitchen of the old house, listening to the storm growling around the roof top, her thoughts cleared, like a headache of which she hadn’t even been aware. She became less centred on herself, and realized with a pain of guilt, that by staying at home she was ruining her mother’s chance of happiness. She was being selfish and unkind. Paul was her mother’s choice and she hadn’t the right to cause trouble for them. She had a mental picture of the three of them: Jessie, Paul and herself, as though she were an outsider peering in through a window, observing people she didn’t really know, and felt the pain of her mother trying to make her understand. There, in that empty house, with the storm howling around its walls, she realized she had to leave the tea rooms and the tiny flat they all shared, and find a new life for herself. In doing so she would be allowing her mother and stepfather to enjoy their second chance. It would also give herself an opportunity to decide how she would like to spend her life. Surely she didn’t have to depend on her mother as though she were a child? She was twenty-two, it was time she moved on.

  She sat for a long time, fearful at the prospect of giving up the security of the only home she had known, but there were moments when she felt a glowing excitement at the world beyond the tea rooms opening out for her.

  As the storm raged around the old house she allowed her thoughts to drift, daydreaming over the possibilities. At first, each idea floated away as she clung to the life she knew but gradually she accepted the truth. She had fallen into the trap of clinging to security, afraid to risk letting go.

  Surprisingly, she was no longer cold, the chill of the night failed to penetrate the stout, stone walls. The atmosphere in the house was comforting and its age gave a sense of timelessness that soothed her. ‘Today’s troubles will be history after the passing of a few days,’ it seemed to say.

  Relaxed and at ease with herself, she became filled with happier thoughts about her mother and aware that life had given her mother a second chance, which meant a second chance for herself too. ‘It’s time to move on,’ the soft murmuring of the house seemed to say, repeating it over and over again.

  She became aware that the storm had passed over, the only evidence of it was the shushing murmur of the moving trees, which were shaking drips of rain down the windowpanes.

  Putting on her coat that was unpleasantly cold and wet, she buttoned it and fished out a soggy headscarf from a pocket. Wet she certainly was but at least she looked sensibly dressed and less like an idiot who had ignored the early warning of the storm. With her coat clinging to her and chilling her again, she went down the path and turned left towards the village. Abandoning the idea of calling on Babs, she was relieved to see a group of people at the end of the lane, standing near a bus stop. Thank goodness she had brought her purse, she thought as she joined the small queue. The passengers were discussing the storm and she was encouraged to join their conversations, giving her a new sensation of being a part of the wider world outside Jessica’s Victorian Tea Rooms. She didn’t know where she was going, but knew she was on her way.

  Although her wet clothes were far from comfortable, she felt light-hearted, as though a weight had been lifted from her mind. A decision had been made; she was leaving home, saying goodbye to the café where she had worked since childhood. The next problem was where she would go and what she would do, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

  When she reached the hotel she saw her parents sitting at a table near the bar. Paul had his arm on Jessie’s shoulder and she was laughing. Seranne was startled at how young and lovely her mother looked. It was as though she hadn’t really looked at her before. It reinforced her decision.

  ‘Mum? Paul? I’ve come to a momentous decision,’ she announced. She laughed at the anxious expressions and went on. ‘I’m leaving the tea rooms in your capable hands, and going to explore a little of the world.’

  Jessie looked hesitant, beginning to shake her head, but Paul smiled, stood up and hugged her and wished her ‘all the luck in the world’.

  There was no doubt he welcomed her decision, nor that her leaving would be a relief, but in her buoyant mood she hugged him back, appreciating his honesty.

  The idea of coming away from the small flat and relaxing in the pampered comfort of a decent hotel had been Paul’s but his plan was not altogether altruistic. He was in serious trouble. The factory had lost all of the managing staff and most of its employees and new ones were difficult to train. He had left too much to his managers and charge hands and now they were no longer there, he was unable to step into their place.

  Using Jessie’s money had saved him from the worst outcome and he desperately needed to find a way of paying it back. At least with bankruptcy avoided he could start again, open another business and once it was a success, he’d be able to look after her properly. She’d be able to give up the tea rooms and be cared for as she deserved.

  The work had been less than perfect over the previous weeks, complaints were increasing and orders were becoming fewer each month. The results for August through to October had shown a serious fall in his once generous income and November was likely to be even worse. He had married Jessie believing he could increase her profits and hide the lack of the income he no longer earned.
He loved her, she was so pretty and bright and she filled him with pride when they were together. But he had an ache in his heart when he thought about how he had cheated, pretending to be a successful businessman, when in fact everything had been about to collapse around him.

  During their time away he had made a decision. He couldn’t delay any longer, he had to act soon. The money that remained in his diminishing account and what he could get from the sale of the factory would be used to start a completely new venture. What that would be he’d not yet decided, but knowing he was looking for something fresh would open his eyes to possibilities and it wouldn’t be long before he was earning again. Jessie might not even know how close he’d come to disaster. He would put the factory up for sale and there were several items in the café and flat that he could persuade Jessie they no longer needed. Every few pounds would help and he’d repay her once he was a success. There was no need to tell her until the new business, whatever it would be, was up and buzzing.

  Seranne found the prospect of setting out on her own seriously daunting, it was one thing to make such a life-changing decision but entirely another to do something about it. A visit to the employment exchange encouraged her. There were plenty of jobs available, she just had to decide what she wanted to do.

  ‘Coward that I am, I want to stay with what I know and look for work in a tea shop.’ she said to her mother.

  ‘There’s no hurry,’ Jessie assured her.

  ‘Maybe not, but tomorrow I’m ready to start my search,’ Seranne said emphatically.

  Meanwhile the work of running Jessica’s Victorian Tea Rooms continued. Although November and December were generally quiet months, in the year of 1952 there was a determination among the public to make Christmas one of the best. Food rationing was still in force but one or two concessions from the government had given a few extras. Groups of friends and neighbours met at the tea rooms to discuss plans.

  More than seven years had passed since the end of the war and families were used to sharing what they had. The exchange of goods in a barter system that had helped many to survive was still in existence. Queues still grew when something ‘off ration’ appeared and the news of a bargain spread by mouth faster than any modern communication invented by man. For Seranne and her mother things had always been a little easier.

  Although they didn’t cheat on their allowances, leftover meals and cakes meant they were better fed and could afford to be generous with their friends. So as plans were prepared for Christmases at home, bookings were also made for parties to use the tea rooms for families and friends to celebrate. For once, this growing excitement didn’t thrill Seranne. Having made up her mind to leave she was determined to do so before the year ended.

  She couldn’t explain why, but she couldn’t put the small town of Cwm Derw out of her mind. She had seen it at its worst; dark clouds and heavy rain and even thunder and lightning, walking in soaking-wet clothes that had felt like an ill-fitting skin. That should have been enough to discourage a second visit, but the peace of that old abandoned house and the friendly chatter of the people on the bus journey back to the hotel had stayed in her memory.

  On the following Sunday afternoon, leaving her mother and Paul to deal with the usual weekend tasks, she went again to Cwm Derw and stepped off the bus near the post office in the main road. She glanced over at Hopkins’s bakery shop. Cwm Derw would be a good place to start out, with friends Babs and Tony there to ease her into the neighbourhood.

  A bus trundled into sight and on impulse she jumped on and made her way to the house on the lane where she had sheltered from the worst of the storm. She stared up at its windows feeling a pull of welcome that warmed her and she went up to look inside, her heart racing with excitement. Nothing had changed, it was still unoccupied. She stood looking up at its gleaming windows and touched the old walls, feeling the warmth of them spreading through her and it was a long time before she turned and headed back to the main road.

  Opposite Hopkins’s bakery was a café, but being Sunday it was closed. There was a large notice stuck on the window advertising a vacancy for a general assistant. A bit different from running our own place, she thought, but curious, she crossed the road to look inside. It didn’t look very attractive compared with Jessica’s Victorian Tea Rooms, dull-brown paint and unadorned windows, but the food might be good enough to encourage customers, she mused. It would do no harm to talk to the manager and see what the prospects were of working there.

  She turned away to recross the road and waited for an approaching car to pass, unaware of standing near a large puddle. As she waited for the solitary car to pass her, she was showered with dirty water that flew up like huge wings from the wheels. It drenched her from her head to her feet.

  Gasping with the shock of it, she turned as though demanding to see someone who would commiserate. A woman stood near the post office and Seranne asked, ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘No, and apparently you didn’t see the puddle, or you’d have moved,’ the woman retorted.

  ‘He should have slowed down!’

  ‘Tell him that, if you can catch up with him!’ She walked away.

  An MG sports car was parked at the side of the road and as she watched, still glaring furiously to where the offending motorist had disappeared, a man approached the sports car and jumped in. She couldn’t be certain but thought it was Luke. She had been splashed with muddy water and her coat was stained and dripping. Even her hair had been caught in the unexpected shower. She could feel rivulets of dirty water running down her face.

  ‘What a mess I must look,’ she wailed as she tried to turn away to avoid recognition. Twice in a week she had visited Cwm Derw and twice she had been soaked. And if that onlooker was an example of the inhabitants, then she ought to accept her mistake and leave. The sooner the better!

  The man stepped out of the sports car and hurried towards her. ‘Miss Laurence?’ Luke said. ‘What on earth made you stand beside a huge puddle like that? You must have seen it?’

  ‘How was I to know that an inconsiderate motorist was about to race through without a thought for others?’

  ‘May I offer you a lift? I’m passing the tea rooms so it won’t be out of my way.’

  He was the very last person she wanted to see her like this, and he was laughing! She pulled up her collar in an ineffectual attempt to hide her dirt-streaked face and began a blustering refusal. ‘I’m perfectly all right, thank you.’

  She was relieved when a voice called, and she turned to see a woman wearing an apron and slippers standing in the doorway of the post office. ‘Come on in, girl, and get dry. Terrible careless that was.’ In her rage, Seranne expected this woman blamed her too, but the woman added. ‘The man was driving like a maniac.’

  Seranne walked to where the woman was waiting and gladly accepted the invitation. Luke watched for a while then drove away, still smiling.

  Seranne Laurence really was a quick-tempered young woman, but there was something appealing about her. Perhaps if things had been different, he might have enjoyed getting to know her, but he didn’t want any more disasters in his life.

  ‘I’m the post mistress, Stella Jones.’ Stella offered her hand, then began to peel the coat off her visitor. She ushered her into a warm, overcrowded room where a fire burned brightly sending its cheer flickering around the walls. Stella unceremoniously tipped a little dog off a chair and invited Seranne to sit. At once the dog jumped back up and settled on Seranne’s lap. ‘Terrible spoilt he is,’ Stella said casually.

  An hour later, Stella had learnt all she needed to know about her unexpected guest and had informed Seranne that the café across the road was looking for an assistant who could manage basic cooking.

  ‘I’ll have a word if you like, tell Mrs Rogers your experience and not afraid of water – handy that’ll be if you’re expected to wash up,’ she teased. ‘Glad to have you she’ll be, you having owned your own place an’ all.’

  ‘I’ll need to look f
or somewhere to stay,’ Seranne said hesitatingly. Although her plan was to move out before the end of the year, this was going too fast.

  ‘Can you afford a reasonable rent?’

  ‘I think so, as long as the wages aren’t too mean. Although having been soaked twice on visits, perhaps I ought to choose somewhere else to start my new life!’ She told Stella about being caught in the storm and sheltering in an old house on the lane.

  ‘Such a friendly, welcoming house, even though I only saw it in the dark.’ She saw Stella was staring at her strangely and stood to leave. ‘If I do get a job in the café, is there a bed and breakfast place near?’

  ‘Well, yes, but the house Badgers Brook is empty. I’ll take you there if you like. Can you ride a bike?’

  Being in business, Stella was one of the few people in the town to have a telephone; the owner of Badgers Brook, who ran an ironmonger’s business, was another. Stella Jones made an excited phone call then announced that, ‘Geoff and Connie Tanner will meet us there in twenty minutes. Your coat will be warm by then if not dry.’ She shook it and changed its position on a clothes horse near the fire and took the cups and saucers they had used into the kitchen, singing cheerfully.

  To Seranne’s surprise, the house they were to see was the one in which she had sheltered on the day of the storm. Geoff and Connie were already there, a fire had been lit and cups and saucers and a few small cakes set out on the kitchen table.

  ‘Connie never goes out without a picnic,’ Stella explained after introductions.

  The place was warm even though the fire could not have been lit for long. Seranne wandered in and out of the rooms in a dream. There were a couple of beds and a wardrobe left by a previous tenant. Curtains were in place and the bedroom floors were covered with linoleum. Downstairs the floors were large slabs of Welsh slate and Seranne thought that only one or two rugs were needed to make it perfect. It was a heavenly place. From the kitchen window, she looked out on woodland on the opposite side of the lane just waiting to be explored, and at the front of the house facing away from the lane, there was a surprisingly neat and orderly garden.