A Perfect Christmas (11 page)

He told her, ‘I’ve already cleaned up after me. I used the tin of scouring powder and the scrubbing brush that was behind the toilet.’ He didn’t tell her that he’d also used the scrubbing brush to help scrub some of the more stubborn dirt from himself, which had hurt like hell. His skin was still tingling.

Jan looked at him, most impressed, that he didn’t seem to think all housework was automatically women’s work.

A while later, Glen and Jan were sheltering from the icy winter wind under a covered bench area in the Imperial Avenue Park, about a quarter of a mile away from where Jan had once lived. Having finished their meal, they sat back and sighed in satisfaction. Only sandwiches washed down with water from an empty lemonade bottle Jan had found and filled from the tap before they left, but for Glen the best food he’d had for an age, and Jan in days.

Glen’s thoughts were racing. He was now in a presentable state, but without the means to keep up his appearance it wouldn’t take more than a couple of days for him to start deteriorating again. He ought to make the most of it now, before it was too late. See if he could land himself a casual job that paid on a daily basis. It didn’t matter to him how menial the work was, it would at least get him on the ladder to improving his position in life, a chance he’d never thought to have again. With a bit of money in his pocket, he could afford to live in a hostel and hopefully find some more to purchase a change of clothes. Then he’d be able to wash and keep his clothes in a reasonable state until he saved up enough to get himself some permanent accommodation and from there a permanent job. Then he would start searching for his daughter. It seemed that the saying ‘one good turn deserves another’ was very apt in this case. He had come to Jan’s rescue and she had repaid him by giving him a chance to improve his lot. A feeling he hadn’t experienced for over two decades buoyed him up. It was one of hope.

Before he could thank Jan for what she’d done for him, wish her the best and take his leave, she said, ‘Right, we’ve a lot to do, so we’d better be off.’

He looked at her, bemused. ‘What do you mean?’

She looked back at him, equally bemused. ‘You want to try and get your business back from that thieving ex-wife of yours, don’t you, and find your daughter?’

He pulled a doubtful face. ‘I told you last night that I don’t see there’s any chance of getting my business back as I signed everything over to Nerys, but I do want to find my daughter.’

‘“Never say never” was a saying of my old gran’s. Another of her sayings was “Two heads are better than one”. And once we put our heads together, you never know what we might come up with as a way to get back what’s rightfully yours. Don’t concede defeat until we’ve at least had a go. Now come on, we have to find ourselves somewhere to live before we can do anything else.’

He looked at her, confused. ‘But we’ve no money between us and . . .’

A wide grin spread over Jan’s face as she told him, ‘Oh, yes, we have.’

‘But how? I mean . . .’

There was a note of pride in her voice when she told him, ‘While you were in the bath I emptied the pot Harry keeps money in to give to the church. I can also pawn my wedding and engagement rings, which should bring us another few quid. And before you start saying I’d no right to help myself to Harry’s church money, that money is intended for use in helping the poor unfortunates of this parish . . . and you can’t deny that we’re about as poor and unfortunate as you can get.’

Glen couldn’t argue with that. His thoughts whirled. He felt a certain amount of guilt at being the beneficiary of funds gained in this way. But if he let slip this opportunity to improve his life so drastically, there was no telling when, if ever, another would come along.

He realised Jan was nudging him in the side and turned and said, ‘Pardon, did you say something?’ He then noticed she was holding something in her hand, expecting him to take it. He looked at it in surprise. It was two pound notes.

‘A man needs some money in his pocket. If you feel guilty for taking it, knowing where it comes from, you could always make a donation to the church poor box when you’re in funds. Now are you coming or what? We’ve a lot to do today because I don’t intend to spend another night staring up at the stars or huddling in a flea-ridden lodging house.’

Glen accepted the money and smiled at her, saying, ‘I’m coming.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

A
cross town Cait was dragging her weary body down the stairs. Her head throbbed, eyes felt sore, and she knew her face was swollen and blotchy from the amount of crying she had done during the night. She was only up now as she was desperate for a drink of water and a couple of aspirin to ease her headache then she planned to return, cocoon herself in her bedclothes again, and nurse the incredible pain of loss and severe worry for her future that seemed to be overwhelming her.

She was so consumed by her own misery she did not see the suitcases piled by the front door. As she arrived at the bottom of the stairs, her mother, dressed for outdoors, pulling on black calf-leather gloves, came out of the lounge.

Spotting Cait, Nerys shot her a disinterested look and remarked, ‘So, you’ve decided to grace us with your presence.’

It was then that Cait noticed the suitcases. She gawped at them. Her mother had told her that the trip she’d planned to take her father to the specialist clinic was off as Cait had spent too much money on her wedding, so where could they be going?

When she asked her mother, Nerys responded briskly, ‘I’m taking your father abroad for his health. Not to the clinic of course, as your selfishness has ruled that out, but somewhere warmer than here.’ At this Cait frowned. But her wedding had only been called off yesterday evening. There had not been enough time for her mother to arrange a trip overseas at such short notice, surely? Then the awful truth dawned. Her parents had never had any intention of attending her wedding!

Before she had time to deal with the hurt and pain caused by this terrible discovery, her mother’s next words reached her.

‘When you leave on Saturday make sure you put your keys through the letterbox.’

In the circumstances she was facing, Cait couldn’t believe her mother was still expecting her to leave home so soon. She implored her, ‘Oh, but Mother, I’m not sure I can go it alone just now . . . Can’t I stay here for a little while longer at—’

Nerys cut in, ‘There’s no quicker way to get over a setback than keeping yourself busy, physically and mentally. Settling yourself in your own place is just the thing to do that. Staying off from work today, wallowing in self-pity, is not the way to get over a disappointment. You need to pull yourself together, Caitlyn. You’re eighteen in a few days and it’s about time you started acting like an adult, not a child always looking for sympathy.’

That was one thing she wasn’t doing – looking for sympathy where she knew she’d not get any. Cait felt she was not at all ready to make her own way in the world, but at least in her own place she could cry and wail as much as she needed without being made to feel she was being pathetic. She still did not want to move into the house that she and Neil had rented together, but as matters stood it seemed she had no choice until an alternative presented itself. Tomorrow, when she felt a little better, she would write a letter to him, telling him what she planned to do and that she would sort out the change of tenancy with the agents. As for the furniture and other items they had collected together, albeit mostly through presents from his relatives, hopefully he would donate it all to her as he had been the one to call their wedding off. Thinking of him, she felt a fresh flood of tears threaten and took several deep breaths to fight them away, knowing if she did allow them to flow she would only irritate her mother further and receive more unsympathetic words from her, and she’d had enough already.

She asked, ‘How long will you and Father be away?’

Nerys looked at her blankly. ‘For as long as we need to be.’

‘But . . . but what about me, Mother?’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘What about you?’

‘Well, if you and Father aren’t here, that will mean I’ll be spending Christmas and my birthday on my own.’

Nerys eyed her sharply. ‘How selfish you are to be thinking of yourself when your father’s health is at risk.’ There was a knock on the front door. ‘That’ll be the taxi. Dalby!’ she called sharply. An elderly woman wearing a working dress with a faded wraparound apron over the top, her iron-grey hair cut in a short bob and secured behind her ears with kirby grips, came scurrying out of the kitchen. Nerys instructed her, ‘Answer the door to the driver and inform him we won’t be a moment, then take the luggage out for him to load.’ As the older woman hurried to obey her orders, Nerys told her daughter, ‘Go and tell your father that the taxi is here. He’s in our bedroom. And don’t let the taxi driver see you still dressed like this at this time in the morning.’

Cait turned and ran back up the stairs, out of eyeshot of anyone standing at the front door. She called down to her mother, ‘How do I contact you while you’re away?’

‘You won’t be able to. We’re going on a tour of the Middle East and will be moving around a lot. Now, I asked you to fetch your father.’

Her sense of loneliness mounted as she went off to do her mother’s bidding. Arriving outside her parents’ bedroom door, she raised her hand to rap on it just as her father opened it and came out, dressed for travel in a camel cashmere heavy coat over a smart grey wool suit, handmade shoes on his feet, obviously having heard the taxi arrive. He greeted Cait, in his thin weedy voice, with, ‘Bring my travel bag down.’

She picked it up and followed him back down the stairs. As she handed it to him in the hallway, she said, ‘I hope you have a nice time on your holiday, Father.’

‘I’m sure I shall,’ he responded shortly as he turned and headed out of the door.

Her mother meanwhile had disappeared into the living room and Cait heard the sound of the key turning in the writing bureau, informing her that Nerys had collected something from inside it. She returned to the hall just as Agnes Dalby came puffing back in after several trips conveying the luggage to the taxi driver to stow away.

Nerys held out a brown envelope towards her employee. ‘This is your pay to date. I shall contact you when we get back so that you may resume your duties.’

The older woman looked at the envelope, befuddled for a moment, before she fixed quizzical eyes on her employer and said, ‘Er . . . you’re laying me off while you’re away then, Mrs Thomas?’

Nerys gave a snort of derision. ‘I’m sure you don’t expect me to pay you for sitting around doing nothing.’

With that she turned and walked out of the front door, leaving her daughter and employee staring blankly after her.

A minute or so later, Agnes Dalby was sitting at the worn pine table, sipping on a cup of hot strong tea. She was inwardly seething. Mrs Thomas was well aware that the wage she paid her, which could hardly be classed as generous, was badly needed to supplement her widow’s pension and enable her to survive, yet she had thoughtlessly dispensed with her services while she was away and expected Agnes to come scurrying back as soon as she was summoned on their return. How Agnes wished that meantime she could manage to get herself another job so that she would have the great pleasure of telling Mrs Thomas where she could stick hers. The chances of that were slim, though, as few people were willing to take on a woman two years past retirement age, no matter if she was still spritely for her years.

From the first day she had started working for Mrs Thomas and experienced the way she treated those she employed Agnes had deeply regretted applying for the position, but at the time she’d been recently widowed, traumatised by the loss of her beloved husband and, with no skills other than the ones she had acquired caring for her family, had been grateful to be given a job of any kind when she had little money coming in. Despite looking for alternative employment over the years with people who would better appreciate her, she was always pipped to the post by someone younger or with better qualifications. Several years ago Agnes had accepted the fact that unless a miracle happened she was stuck with Mrs Thomas until it was impossible for her to work any longer. Thankfully, over the years she’d had the sense to put away whatever she could spare for a rainy day. It seemed that had arrived so at least she would be able to ride out her monetary famine until her employer returned, so long as she was careful with it.

Movement nearby caught Agnes’s attention and out of the corner of her eyes she watched Caitlyn Thomas, back against the sink, face the picture of misery, swallow two aspirin tablets with water. Agnes had mixed feelings about the young woman. She treated Agnes with little or no respect, but then she was only acting towards her as her mother did. She hadn’t been taught any better. The girl had been very young when Agnes first came to work for the Thomases just after they had moved here in fact. The child had been such a happy and contented little thing then, reminding her very much of her own daughter, Gladys, who had been just like her as a baby and, under her parents’ guidance and nurturing, had grown up into a very kind and thoughtful woman. Unfortunately for Caitlyn, she’d been born to the kind of parents who, in Agnes’s opinion, were totally self-absorbed and obviously saw their child as an inconvenience. It had distressed her greatly to witness the way that Mr Thomas barely acknowledged his child’s existence, and Mrs Thomas’s idea of motherhood was doing the absolute basics for her daughter and nothing more, and even those had halted as soon as the child was old enough to take on the tasks for herself.

Agnes had lost count of the number of times she had had to restrain herself from going up to the nursery when the child’s cries went unanswered. Her mother was otherwise occupied with her father, and Mrs Thomas never dropped anything for anyone when her husband was in need of her attention. Agnes wanted to scoop the child up into her own arms and just cuddle her, something she knew the girl was starved of. She dare not, though, in case she was perceived as taking liberties. All she could do was turn a deaf ear to the cries and immerse herself in her work.