A Silver Lining (33 page)

‘I was going to do that after I made the pies and pasties. I’ve mixed the fillings.’ She pointed to three huge saucepans simmering gently on the stove.

‘I think we’d be taking on too much by attempting to do pastry goods as well now.’ He glanced at her. She was pale and drawn, her green eyes glittering like enamel in the early morning sunlight. ‘You look tired.’

‘Just the after-effects of yesterday.’

‘I know what you mean. Bethan Powell’s baby died last night.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She remembered Bethan smiling at her, and the towels she had given her as a house-warming present; she had written Bethan a note to thank her for them only yesterday. She had always found it hard to take kindness from others. Now was her chance to help someone else. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked sincerely.

‘Write to her, perhaps go and see her after the funeral.’

‘You think she’d want to see me?’

‘I’m sure she would. But in the meantime we’re going to have our work cut out here.’ He deliberately steered the conversation on to business matters. ‘William has gone to fetch the undertaker, and then he and Eddie, if he can get away, are going to run the stall for me. After last night,’ he held up the sling, ‘I’m not going to be up to cutting meat or working on the market for a while.’

‘Perhaps we could buy in pies,’ Alma suggested.

He leaned heavily against the tiled wall.

‘Here,’ she pulled a chair out from under one of the zinc-covered tables. ‘You should sit down.’

Charlie took her advice, and it was then that she saw he was really ill.

‘Look, the ingredients are all here. Seeing as how I’ve already started suppose you let me have a try.’

‘You told me yourself you’ve never cooked professionally.’

‘How hard can it be? Besides you’re here to supervise.’

‘I’ve never cooked professionally either.’ He looked at her and she blushed.

‘All right,’ she said, lifting down a bag of flour. ‘Let’s give this ago.’ To her surprise he made no attempt to leave, but continued to sit and watch her. ‘I haven’t said thank you for last night,’ she said guiltily, feeling that it was her fault he was injured. ‘Not only for stopping that maniac waving the poker in front of my eyes, but also for not pressing charges against him afterwards.’

He fell silent for a moment. ‘I wasn’t just thinking of you. He began by threatening me, remember. Then, like an idiot, I lost my temper.’

‘After seeing you, I hope you never lose it with me.’

She had meant it as a joke, but her words fell flat in the quiet atmosphere of the kitchen.

‘Only fools lose their tempers,’ he replied unequivocally. ‘And all I’ve succeeded in doing is hurting this business before it’s even opened, as well as jeopardising my job running the stall. William and I talked last night. He’s going to take over the slaughterhouse and market with Eddie’s help, and that, I’m afraid, leaves this place staffed with a one-armed man, and you. Unfortunately until I find out what kind of trade we’re going to get here I can’t afford to pay anyone else.’

‘Which means?’ She was terrified that he wasn’t going to open the shop after all. She’d already handed in her notice to Tony.

‘Which means that although William can help on the days when the market is closed once he’s finished his stint in the slaughterhouse, it’s mainly down to you; and if you want the job you’ll have to do more than just the cooking. I know I said you could have the afternoons off, but if I can’t cope, would you mind working in the shop as well? The only problem as I see it is the long hours...’

‘You want me to serve behind the counter after what happened in the café?’

‘I’ll be there with you most of the time. All I need is another pair of hands to help me cut the meat and take the money.’

‘But –’

‘You can’t allow the gossips to ruin your life, Alma,’ he said irritably. ‘If they come in, we’ll just have to face them together.’

She hadn’t had a chance to tell him about her mother and her trip to see the minister. But now, when he was ill, exhausted and worried, wasn’t the time. He’d done so much for her. ‘If you want me to serve in the shop, Charlie, I’ll be happy to do it, and work whatever hours are needed to make a go of the business. I’ll cope with the Marys and Fredas as best I can. And you don’t have to worry about my health. I’m used to hard work and eighteen-hour days.’

He gave her one of his rare, tight smiles. ‘I knew I’d picked the right girl for the job.’

‘Name?’

‘Phyllis Harry.’

‘State your business.’

‘We’re homeless.’ She held up her son, who was blue after the hours spent in the cold.

‘Follow me.’

The lodge-keeper led her through the main gates into a small yard. To the right was the master’s house; to the left, the gate lodge, both low-built and bordered by well stocked, colourful flowerbeds. Facing her was an intimidatingly high building, a veritable wall of dour grey stone, and set in the centre of it was another set of gates, only marginally lower than the first. She walked towards them, expecting the porter to direct her into the yard she could see beyond the gates, but he halted at the entrance to the open passageway that cut through the block.

‘You can wait here,’ he ordered. He opened a door on her right that led into a low-ceilinged waiting room. Painted the inevitable institution shades of green and cream, it appeared to be crowded with people.

Hugging her baby close she looked around warily. A whole family –mother, father and five small children –occupied one corner. A filthy old woman who stank of drink and urine sat in another, singing to herself. Three middle-aged men stood despondently close to the door. She clutched her son and crept as close as she could to the family.

She stood there, leaning against the cold, stone wall for what seemed like hours, watching and waiting, fearful of what was to come because of the stories she’d heard, mainly from Mrs Richards.

“One night! That’s all poor Martha lasted in there. They took her baby away from her, and she cried her eyes out. Dead of a broken heart by morning ... ”

“TB, more like it,” Harry Griffiths had contradicted. (She must have been in his corner shop.)

“You believe what you want to, Mr Griffiths. I know better,” Mrs Richards had crowed.

‘Females and children follow me.’

Phyllis kissed the top of her baby’s head, gripped her bundle tightly and followed a sister dressed in a dark blue uniform dress that was almost covered by a white apron, collar and cuffs. They walked through the gate into yet another yard dominated by a massive block, the largest she had yet seen.

‘Males follow me,’ a masculine voice commanded. ‘Females to the left.’

The group Phyllis was with turned at the command. To her surprise they seemed to have picked up more children and women from somewhere. Behind her, she could hear the mother of the small children crying, her sobs accompanied by the low murmurs of her husband.

‘Come on now; stop that for the children’s sake. It’s not for long. Only until we get on our feet again ...’

‘Males, to the right.’ A male nurse directed the men away from the women. The mother lingered, clinging to her husband’s arm.

‘You’re not doing yourself or your husband any good.’ The male nurse peeled the woman’s fingers away from her husband’s shabby jacket.

‘Females in line.’

Phyllis shuffled along, taking her place in the queue that had formed in front of a high, three-storey block of dressed stone. It began to rain, heavy spots that rapidly turned into a downpour. There was no shelter in the yard, and as no one had suggested walking in through the open door that faced them, Phyllis pulled Rhiannon’s old shawl higher, covering her son’s face and head.

‘All infants under three to be handed over.’

‘Your baby.’

Phyllis stared at the young nurse in front of her. ‘Your baby,’ she repeated. ‘He can’t be left out in the cold like this.’ The nurse held out her arms.

‘He’s hungry.’

‘He’ll be fed and looked after.’

‘When can I see him?’ Phyllis shook uncontrollably as she slowly unwrapped the shawl with numbed fingers, and wrapped it around Brian.

‘That will depend on you, and how you get on. If you work well and behave yourself, possibly a week Sunday,’ the sister replied officiously, standing alongside the young nurse.

‘Best hand him over without a fuss, love,’ a woman murmured higher up the line. ‘It’ll go hard if you don’t.’

‘Infants three to eleven years of age.’

‘Where are you taking them?’ the woman who’d clung to her husband asked.

‘Maesycoed Homes. They’ll be well looked after. Eleven to sixteen, Church Village homes. Come on Sam,’ the young nurse smiled at a gangling youth who was being led across the yard by a male nurse. ‘You know you’re only twelve.’

‘I want to stay with my dad.’

‘Not this time, Sam.’

‘Bailiffs put us out again, Nurse Harding,’ his mother said to the staff.

‘Get these children out of here.’

Phyllis couldn’t see where the harsh masculine voice came from, but it provoked an instant response. Brian was snatched from her arms so quickly that she barely had time to turn her head and check the direction he was being carried in.

‘Name?’

‘Phyllis Harry. I gave it to the porter ...’ She wouldn’t have dreamed of protesting if she hadn’t been so upset by the sound of Brian’s screams growing fainter as he was carried from the female yard into the deeper recesses of the workhouse.

‘And now you have to give it to me. Age?’

‘Forty-one.’ Someone had pushed her into the reception area of the female ward block. To her left was a huge tiled room with a row of baths set in the centre. She could smell the foul stink of disinfectant from where she was standing. She began to count them ... three, four, five, six, seven ...

‘Last place of residence?’

‘Danygraig Street.’ She wouldn’t implicate Evan, especially here.

‘Reason for leaving?’

‘The bailiffs evicted us.’

‘Non-payment of rent?’

‘No,’ Phyllis replied indignantly. ‘My landlady died.’

‘Relatives?’

‘Only my son.’

‘Husband deceased or absent?’

She lowered her head. ‘I’m not married.’

‘I see.’ The disapproving tone said it all. ‘Last occupation?’

‘Cinema usherette.’

‘We have no cushy jobs like that here. It’ll be domestic work. Plain and hard. If you prove satisfactory we may find you an outside situation. A portion of your wages will be deducted to support yourself and your son. I take it you have no money?’

Phyllis put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a three penny piece and two pennies, all the money she had after paying for the funeral. Then she remembered her Post Office book. There was seven of the ten pounds Charlie had given her on it. She’d left it in the box room, in Rhiannon’s jewellery box. How could she have been so stupid? It would have kept her and Brian for a week or two. Given her time to think of something. Now it was too late.

‘Hand it over.’

‘Are there any situations where I can keep my son with me?’ Phyllis ventured, as she laid her pennies on the desk, hoping even at this late stage for a miracle.

‘None.’

‘When can I see him?’

‘We’ll consider a visit in a week or two. What’s that you have there?’

Phyllis looked down and realised she was still holding the bundle she had made of Brian’s rag doll and his clothes. ‘They’re my son’s –’

‘Inmates are not allowed personal possessions. Hand them over.’

‘But ...’

‘I’ll see your son gets them.’ Another, younger, prettier nurse left the bathroom and took the bundle from Phyllis’s hands.

‘His name’s Brian. Brian Harry. He’s only a baby,’ Phyllis called after her.

‘Inmates are not allowed to speak to staff until they’re spoken to,’ the admitting sister admonished sternly. ‘Any problems with you, woman, and you won’t be seeing your child for quite some time. In there,’ she indicated the bathroom. ‘Next?’

‘It’s not so bad,’ the younger nurse whispered in her ear. ‘They’re not all like Dragon-face. Now here’s your uniform. She gave Phyllis a pair of wooden clogs and a long drab work dress stitched out of coarse Welsh flannel. ‘Undress next to your bath. Leave your clothes in a neat pile on the floor. I’ll take them.’

‘But where?’

‘You’re not allowed to wear your own clothes in here, Phyllis, isn’t it?’

Phyllis shook the dress out in her hands. ‘But what about underclothes?’

‘You have your dress. It’s modest enough.’ She walked away holding the bundle out in front of her.

‘It really isn’t that bad when you get used to it. The first day is always the worst,’ said the older woman whose son had pleaded to be allowed to stay with his father. She followed Phyllis into the bathroom with its row of waiting baths.

‘No talking along there. Strip off.’

Colour flooding her cheeks, Phyllis hung her head and began to unbutton her blouse.

‘They won’t let you keep anything like that, love, and once they get their hands on it you’ll never see it again,’ the woman whispered as Phyllis fingered the gold chain with its heart-shaped locket that Evan had given her the day Brian had been born. ‘Didn’t you have anyone you could leave it with?’

Phyllis shook her head, tears stinging her eyes.

‘Well then, you’d better hand it over first as last. Sad, but there you are. They sell things like that, you know. Set what they get against the cost of our keep, or so they say. Pity you didn’t think of pawning it. You might have been able to stay out of here a bit longer if you had.’

‘Hurry up there. There’s others waiting to get in that bath.’

Phyllis stared down at the water, grey and scummy with something other than disinfectant.

‘The inmates get to use them first, love,’ the woman told her. ‘New arrivals are always last in the queue.’

Phyllis felt that the final remnants of her dignity went with her clothes. The last thing she did before stepping into the water was to unfasten the locket from around her neck and slip it into her mouth. Tucking it into the hollow of her cheek with her tongue she decided they’d have to kill her before she handed that over. As long as she held on to it, she still had Evan –and Brian. Their photographs were inside. And she had the feeling that she was going to need to look at their smiling images often in the days that lay ahead.