The Weston Girls Read online

  Two hours later, after driving Nia back to her house in Chestnut Road, Lewis put his key in the door, calling goodnight to Maggie Wilpin sitting in the darkness. He walked into his house to see Dora sitting waiting for him. Irritably he asked, “What is it, Dora. Why are you still up?”

  “Our Rhiannon was attacked,” she said with some satisfaction, knowing how shocked and guilty he would be. “You weren’t here, but that’s nothing new, is it? Never with your family when you’re needed, are you Lewis Lewis?”

  * * *

  Gladys checked and re-checked the names on the list of invitations for her planned party. There weren’t enough young men. She stared into space racking her brain for fresh ideas. She wanted to discuss it with Arfon, he would know people of importance from his business meetings and his club, but she daren’t. She knew she ought not to be arranging such an expensive event, but the money had been saved by her for the girls’ twenty-first birthday party and, since that hadn’t happened, the money had lain there, waiting for her to think of a way of using it. A way that didn’t include simply pouring it away, consigning it to the money they had already lost.

  A party to which she would invite all the most eligible bachelors in the town, was an excellent way to use the money. Giving it to Arfon to pay off some of their debtors would be as useless as throwing it down the nearest drain. It would disappear and there would be nothing to show for it. Why couldn’t Arfon understand that? Really, men were so stupid sometimes!

  Today she intended to call on Mr Jenkins. Apologising for not buying his house after viewing it was a weak excuse but it was sufficient. She would call and tell him how sorry she was for wasting his time and stay to ask about his grandsons. Smiling at her own deviousness and skill, she rang for a taxi.

  As before the maid opened the door and after a brief enquiry, Gladys was invited in. To her delight, Mr Jenkins was not alone. A young and extremely handsome man sprawled in an armchair but stood up as she entered and waited politely to be introduced.

  The young man who looked about the same age as Jack, was dressed in what Gladys called casual elegance. Well fitting, obviously personally tailored trousers and shirt that spoke loudly of money. His jacket was of some age but obviously good quality. On his feet he wore hand-sewn shoes. He was handsome in a rather boyish, old-fashioned way, fair skinned and with light brown, straight hair. His hands were beautifully manicured and looked as if they had never done anything more exhausting than lift a pen. Classically handsome, was how she described him to herself.

  “This is my grandson, Terrence Jenkins,” Gladys was told and she began mentioning names in the hope of a mutual friend that would create a link. It was when she mentioned her grandson Jack Weston that she struck the spot.

  “I know Jack,” Terrence said. “Didn’t he go to training college to become a teacher or something?”

  “That’s right. He was ‘called’ to work with children,” Gladys explained. “He could have gone into his grandfather’s business but he was ‘called’, you see.”

  As if the idea had only just occurred, she said brightly. “I’m organising a party for the young people, would you like to come? Bring your cousins too. You and Jack would enjoy catching up with each other’s news, I’m sure, and you could meet my lovely granddaughters, ‘the Weston Girls’ they’re called.”

  Dates were checked and as Terrence marked the date and time in his diary, Gladys knew she was making progress with her plan to see her girls settled before the end of the year.

  “He uses a diary, my dear,” she told Arfon that evening. “I do think that’s a good sign, don’t you?”

  * * *

  Jack was surprised when Terrence called on him the following day. “Terry! Where did you spring from? I thought you’d gone to Australia!”

  “Changed my mind, I thought I’d give it a bit longer before giving up on the old country.”

  “What are you doing round here?’’

  “As little as possible, of course! Are you still moulding little minds?”

  They talked for an hour then Jack took him to The Railwayman’s to meet his friends.

  Viv was there with Frank and Ernie Griffiths. They were playing darts and arguing as usual. They all looked with some suspicion at the newcomer, his accent and superior manner off-putting, but Terry soon relaxed them with stories of himself and Jack during their army days and when they parted two hours later, Frank and Ernie felt they had made a friend. Viv had disliked the man on sight and his dislike hardened as the evening wore on.

  “What are you doing in Pendragon Island?” Jack asked. “I thought you lived and worked in London?”

  “I do – did. But I needed a change of scene. Selling jewellery to old ladies with podgy hands or young men shackling themselves to eager young women, I couldn’t take it any longer. Grandfather is going to help me find something else. My London sophistication and experience will help me find a job.”

  “What d’you mean, your London experience and sophistication?” Viv demanded rudely. “How can working in London be an asset for finding work here? D’you think we’re stupid, and in desperate need of your expertise then?”

  “If you’re anything to go by, manners are at a premium for a start!” Terry retorted.

  Jack sighed audibly. Viv and Terry had been in each other’s company for a couple of hours and were clearly set to be enemies.

  * * *

  Islwyn Heath watched his son coming out of The Railwayman’s and wished he could have gone in and joined the young people, had a drink, shared their fun for a while. Apart from Viv Lewis of course. He could never be civil to that young man.

  He got into step with his son when he had left the others and said, “Come for a cup of tea, Jack. I feel the need for company and your mother is off round at your Auntie Sally’s again. Never apart them two these days!”

  “I can’t say I blame them, Dad. You aren’t exactly sparkling company, are you?”

  “Don’t be so impertinent, boy!”

  “For that you can pay for the tea,” Jack laughed. “Come on, Dad, face the facts. You skulk about in the dark, or sit in a corner sunk in a chair like a sick parrot, hardly saying a word. You can’t blame Mam for seeking livelier company, can you?”

  They turned off the sticky wet pavement into the artificial brightness of a café, where sad cakes and curled sandwiches lay under the protection of glass domes, but too near the oven to survive.

  Islwyn pointed to a currant bun and asked for it to be spread with butter.

  “Not allowed,” the assistant said with obvious relish. “Only bread rolls can have butter. We’re still rationed, you know.”

  Islwyn nodded to accept the dry, butterless bun and looked at his son. “Pass!” Jack said firmly.

  “Did you have supper tonight?” Jack asked, knowing his father had not touched a mouthful of the meal. “Lovely soup Mam made today. It’s amazing what she can make out of the small ration of meat.”

  “I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Hungry? You must be desperate if you’re going to eat that rock!” He watched as Islwyn cut the bun and chewed a small piece. “Dad, why don’t you get a job?” he said. “You won’t earn as much as Grandfather paid you, but you can’t go drifting on like this. You’ll be an old man by Christmas!”

  “What could I do, boy? I only know about book-keeping and no one will employ me to do that, now, will they? Thanks to your friend, Viv Lewis,” he added sharply.

  “Go to the Labour Exchange and see what they have to offer.”

  “Waste of time, boy. Waste of time.”

  Jack argued and coaxed but a huge bite from the currant bun seemed to have silenced his father for at least the next ten minutes. He knew Viv was right though. The time for sympathy was gone, now was the time for some action. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Go down and take a job, any job, so long as it gets you out of the house and facing people before you’ve completely lost the knack, Dad.”

  “That’s w
hat your mother said this morning. Anything is better than nothing, she told me.”

  “And she’s right,” Jack said firmly.

  Chapter Five

  Islwyn Heath wandered along the lanes behind terraced houses, and headed gradually, by a convoluted route, to the beach. In his melancholy state of mind, he liked the closed-down funfair and the shops with their shadowy reminders of hot, sun-filled days. Artificial sticks of rock, plaster ice-cream cones, closed and shabby cafés with the air still redolent of fish and chips, the canvas-hooded fairground rides, all suited his mood. He had made it one of his regular stops on his nightly prowls.

  He knew he was becoming more and more irritable. His resentment was growing rather than lessening and his wife was losing patience. Sian spent more and more time with her twin sister and this exacerbated Islwyn’s feeling of isolation. It had reached the point at which they rarely spoke without arguing.

  He still spent most nights wandering the town, alone and lonely, unable to break the pattern he had built of hiding during the day and creeping out at night. Too late he wished he had faced everyone when the news broke, as his father-in-law had done.

  Deep down he knew the problem was his to deal with, that he couldn’t depend on others to bail him out of his self-imposed ostracism, but he refused to admit it. Now even Jack, his amiable son, was finding it hard to be patient.

  He was unaware that Jack had other things on his mind, the problem of how best to help a family with far greater problems than his own. Islwyn thought he had worn out his tolerance, as he had of others. He walked through the dark streets, a self-pitying sob building inside him, and wondered what he could do.

  A car squealed to a halt at the corner then scorched past him as he stood undecided at the kerb, forcing him to jump back for fear of being knocked down. Perhaps it would have been as well, he thought, with an increase of melancholy welling up into a wail. His had been a wasted life so far, he admitted to himself. Marrying one of Arfon Weston’s daughters and being given a job for life had seemed wonderful at the time, but now he was paying the price.

  He had looked down on people like Viv Lewis and now he was depending on him to revive the family fortune and give him back his comfortable life being supported by his father-in-law. He cringed when he remembered how he had treated Viv before his treachery had been revealed. Acting all superior to a hard-working man like Viv, while robbing the family who had given him everything.

  He ambled on through the empty streets, seeing nothing, hearing nothing – apart from the voices in his head; accusatory voices that berated him and forced him to see what he had become.

  He hadn’t gone home last night. He had walked to the gate but had been unable to go in. Like several times before he hadn’t been able to face the family. The house was like a prison, the air frosty with mostly unspoken accusations. Sian glared but rarely spoke and Jack too had little time to talk to him. What was he going to do with the rest of his life?

  Shaking his pocket to check he had a few coins he went into a phone box and dialled Ryan’s number. Ryan had refused to go back to Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint too, unable to accept working with Viv Lewis as his boss. Perhaps he would meet him for a cup of tea and a talk. There seemed to be no one else prepared to give him time.

  * * *

  Jack was sitting at the bus stop close to the park trying to work out how to persuade Victoria to ask for her job back and how to persuade Grandmother Weston to give in and accept her. The Jones family was much improved since the death of Steve, but Victoria was still undernourished and he guessed that the best of the food went into the bellies of the younger children. Grandmother would help in more ways than paying a wage once she knew the situation, but he’d promised not to say a thing. How could he persuade her? It was a miracle his grandfather had taken Viv Lewis back after Viv had exposed his secret. He didn’t think the Weston family could manage a second miracle. Fortunately fate played into his hands.

  It was on Friday, late in October, when he called at his grandmother’s house to find her a little upset.

  “What is it?” he asked. “No one ill, I hope?” With the strain his grandfather had been under, illness was a constant dread.

  So it was relief he felt at first, then hope, when Gladys said, “Mair Gregory has given me notice. What a nerve, giving up a good position like this. Not that she’ll be much of a loss, but it will be an inconvenience, having to look for someone else. Since the war it hasn’t been easy to find a willing girl, they all want such high wages these days.”

  “I know someone who would be excellent, Grandmother,” Jack said, crossing his fingers superstitiously. “But you’d have to pay her more than you paid Mair, to persuade her to come.”

  “Your grandfather is being careful at the moment, dear,” Gladys said primly.

  “He wouldn’t begrudge you a good, efficient and trustworthy maid, though, would he?”

  ”No, I think I could talk him round. Who is the girl?”

  “Victoria.” He raised a hand to ward off the protest “You know you’d love to have her back, Grandmother, why don’t you think about it?”

  “We’ve already discussed this Jack. Your grandfather would never agree.”

  “Are you telling me you can’t persuade him?” he laughed. Suddenly Jack became serious. He knew now he’d have to tell Gladys the truth and break his promise to Victoria. He told her then of the difficulties the Jones family were facing, with the father dead, having wasted all the money and even sold the furnishings to buy drink. Soft-hearted as he knew her to be, Gladys was in the mood to go at once with a parcel of food and clothing, but Jack stopped her.

  “I know your intentions are good, Grandmother, but Victoria doesn’t want charity from you, she wants the chance to earn money. I even promised her I wouldn’t tell you about her problems. I know you’d make sure she had plenty of good food too, but it wouldn’t be charity.” He amused her by reporting on the Griffithses’ deliveries of beds and other urgent needs but assured her that Victoria had pledged to pay them for it all.

  “She isn’t a scrounger, she’s proud and independent and just wants the chance to work and be paid a fair wage,” he insisted.

  “I’ll talk to your grandfather,” Gladys promised and Jack hugged her, knowing the agreement was as good as made.

  * * *

  When Victoria was summoned to go and see her ex-employer, she was quaking. She had always found Gladys formidable and wondered what the woman could want, imagining complaints and racking her brain to wonder what she had done or failed to do. Her aprons had all been washed and returned, the wages had been correct to the last penny. What could she have done? Surely Jack hadn’t been right and she was going to be offered her job back? That was too unlikely to consider! She entered the room where Gladys sat as if on a throne, preparing herself for an apology.

  “Victoria,” Gladys began, and to the girl’s relief she began to smile. “I know you did wrong, helping Viv Lewis and Basil Griffiths to report Mr Weston to the police, but that’s all behind us now and I think you should come back and work for me again.”

  “I couldn’t—” Victoria gasped.

  “Oh, I know you’ll expect a little increase in your wages,” Gladys frowned, “the shops can pay more than I, but that will be arranged. Mr Weston is a forgiving and generous man.”

  “But, I—”

  “Give your notice this Friday and you can begin here a week later, on the Friday evening. I’m having a dinner party for the family and you will help. I will increase your wages by—” Here Gladys paused as if about to bestow a sweet on a favoured child, then said, “— four shillings and sixpence a week.”

  Still without having uttered a sentence, Victoria was dismissed.

  She was still shaking when she let herself out of the kitchen door. She didn’t go back home but walked instead to Somerset House where Jack lived with his parents. It was four o’clock and Jack should be home. Tentatively she knocked on the heavy front door
and when it was opened by Jack’s mother she asked if she could speak to him. Closing the door and leaving her standing on the step, Sian went to find her son.

  “Victoria! Come in. Is everything all right, there’s no problem?” Jack asked.

  Remaining on the step, Victoria said, “Your grandmother, Mrs Weston, has told me to go back there to work.”

  “Told you? Not asked? Yes, that sounds like Grandmother. Do you want to?”

  “I’m a bit nervous, like. Won’t she still be angry with me?”

  “She isn’t as fierce as she tries to pretend.”

  “And, she’s offered me four and sixpence more than before.”

  “You’re worth more,” Jack smiled. He had agreed six shillings with his grandmother. Trust her to cut it down. “Well, are you going to accept?”

  “I didn’t say more than a couple of words,” Victoria said seriously, “but I think I have!”

  Jack laughed and pulled the door shut behind him. “Come on, young lady, I’ll walk you home.”

  They turned out of the drive and headed for Goldings Street. Jack felt good. He didn’t analyse the feeling but just knew it felt more like happiness than he had experienced for a long time. Victoria was only sixteen, a shy little thing, dark-haired and with an expression of apology ever present on her small features. She barely reached his shoulder and he slowed his steps to allow her to walk beside him without having to run.