Gull Island (33 page)

He helped her into the van, managing a few kisses as he did so. They drove through the steady downpour for a few miles then he stopped the
van. Taking her in his arms, he said, ‘You’ve promised to marry me and in front of dozens of witnesses. Now you can’t change your mind.’

‘I’ll never want to, Richard. Never, never, never.’ But they couldn’t kiss. Not properly. They were both laughing too much.

R
ICHARD REACHED HOME
in a state of euphoria. Rosita had agreed to marry him. Some time in the distant future as yet, but she had agreed. Silently he thanked Monty for his sensible advice and patted himself on the back for taking it.

Monty had been right about choosing a place from where she couldn’t walk away and he chuckled as he remembered his friend’s advice to get the proposal in first: ‘Forget conditions, you’re asking the girl to marry you, not interviewing her for a job!’

He had stayed late at the flat in Station Row and they had talked about the future, not in the usual way, each trying to score points off the other, but calmly, working out how their businesses would be made to fit their lives, leaving them time for fun.

He was smiling as he collected the dog for his nightly walk and, although it was past midnight, he took him further than usual, enjoying the peace and silence in which to contemplate the future. He went along the well-known streets, made unfamiliar by the late hour. Shadows made the buildings look misshapen; the silence made his footsteps extra loud so he trod with more than usual care. Occasionally he would start as a cat left a pool of darkness to run without sound, and cause the dog to growl
threateningly
.

Strolling towards Idris’s house on the way back to his parents’ house he began to imagine telling his parents. They would be pleased to know that he and Rosita were together; he knew that was something they had both hoped for. He glanced up at the lighted bedroom of his brother’s house and frowned. Only one room was lit: a bedroom. He wondered if the two of them were there together and thought it more than likely. Idris wasn’t the sort to be put off by him knowing.

He would have to do something about his brother. This affair couldn’t continue. Mam would find out and this was something she wouldn’t be pleased to hear. In fact, he wondered if she’d believe him if he told her about finding Idris in bed with his sister-in-law. Ruefully, he thought Mam
would rather believe he’d had a mental aberration than believe Idris – her golden boy – capable of such a thing.

As he turned away from the house, the light upstairs was extinguished and he deliberately closed his mind from the problem of Idris and his sordid affair. Tonight was a night for thinking of himself and Rosita. ‘Come on, boy, you’ve sniffed there long enough.’ He tugged on the lead. ‘Time to go home.’ He urged the dog forward once more and walked on.

It was evening before Rosita could go to the Careys’ and hear about their visit to London. She was greeted almost tearfully by Mrs Carey.

‘You’re all right, Rosita? Oh, I’m so glad to be back. Thought all sorts of terrible things were happening, I did. A week from home is such a long time – it seems we’ve been away for months! But it was lovely, mind. That London place is full of such beautiful buildings and oh, the shops!’ She chattered on, wiping away the tears and hugging Rosita between telling her some of their adventures.

‘I’ve never seen such lights! And that big-huge river. All the boats and buildings were lit with coloured lights and oh, the funfair! You can’t imagine how splendid it all was. And that Skylon above it all like a magic wand making it all happen. Best of all was when the whole place was lit up at night. Beautiful beyond it was.’

‘It made us realize how long we’d been in the dark all those war years,’ Henry added. ‘The girls thought it was fairy land. They didn’t want to come home, those two. And remember the fireworks, Molly?’

‘Every night a fireworks display filling the sky and reflecting in the lake. Oh, Rosita, love, you ought to try and go.’

Rosita tried to tell them several times that London was where she and Richard might go for their honeymoon, but she didn’t have a chance for a single word before Mrs Carey was off again on some description of her exciting week. Telling was part of the fun, she knew that. Time for hers and Richard’s news later, she thought with a chuckle, when the travellers had calmed down.

Mr Carey made them some tea and brought out some biscuits they had bought in Fortnum and Mason. ‘And the tea—’ he began.

‘Bought off ration, would you believe,’ his excited wife interrupted. ‘Off a street trader!’

‘Street trader!’ Mr Carey said scornfully. ‘He was one of them spivs!’

‘Well, whatever,’ Mrs Carey chuckled. ‘I only know I haven’t had a better time in all my life.’ He sat back on the couch and fell asleep.

Richard arrived and Rosita and he greeted each other with a
lighthearted
kiss.

‘Well, would you believe it! They’re greeting each other as if they’ve been apart longer than us!’ Molly Carey grinned. ‘Stopped quarrelling, have you?’

‘I hope so, Mam,’ Richard said, looking at Rosita.

The descriptions and memories were repeated with embellishments for Richard to hear but all the time Rosita could see Mrs Carey was waiting for someone and guessed it was Idris, her favourite child. When there was a knock on the door and a shout, she saw the woman’s face light up and she wondered what it was about Idris that made people admire him. Why couldn’t they see beyond the handsome features and the fair curly hair? Compared with Richard he was nothing.

Idris was followed by Kate, Hattie and the girls, who filled the small room with their excited chatter. Yet, Rosita realized, there were
undercurrents
of unease. She looked around the family, trying to decide where it came from. The twins, Helen and Lynne, were glowing with excitement, their faces full of nothing but happiness.

Her eyes alighted next on Kate, calm, gentle Kate, and saw a smile that was strained. Kate had a bag of gifts in a colourful carrier bag with the logo of the festival on it and as soon as they settled in chairs, cushions and on the floor, Mrs Carey reached for a similar bag from under the table. Soon the room was like Christmas morning, with discarded tissue paper and assorted wrappings covering the floor. Excited fingers tore and scrabbled and revealed souvenirs of the visit to the capital. Helen and Lynne were included, to their surprise, as their mother gave them each a new shoulder bag. Rosita admired the small model of the Skylon she had been given and Richard frowned at her over the heads of the others and gestured towards his new Festival of Britain tie, with something akin to horror.

‘To hold your trousers up,’ Hattie whispered. Richard glared at Idris, the brothers exchanging looks of such fury that Rosita took Richard’s arm in a protective gesture and pulled him away from the rest.

‘You feeling fit again, Idris, love?’ Molly Carey asked her favourite son. ‘Richard said you’ve been sick.’

‘Yes, Idris,’ Richard said loudly. ‘Ready for work next week? Or are you too busy with … other things?’

‘I’m fine, Mam, and yes.’ He spoke to Richard but didn’t look at him. ‘I’ll be there on Monday.’

‘Your light was on late last night, considering you’re supposed to be ill.’

‘Chasing a fly,’ Idris replied hastily. ‘Gets on your nerves something chronic when one is buzzing round the room.’

‘Chasing something,’ Kate said quietly.

The air was filled with unsaid things and Rosita looked at Kate in alarm.
What had she found when she had returned home? Something to make her gentle face sad and for her tongue to have an edge of reproach rarely heard. She had the look of a puppy who had been unfairly whipped. To take
attention
away from the unhappy woman, she turned to Hattie and asked, ‘What about your holiday, Hattie? You don’t look very tanned after a week at the seaside.’

‘And you didn’t send a card,’ Kate said.

‘Stayed in, didn’t I? Sick I was and hardly left my room.’

‘There’s a shame,’ Mrs Carey said at once. ‘All that money and you no better off for it.’ She shook her head and tutted sympathetically. ‘You might just as well have stayed home.’

For some reason Rosita didn’t understand, the words hung in the air. Richard’s head jerked around and he glared at Idris. Rosita frowned as the brothers continued to stare unblinkingly, one challenging, the other with an air of defiance. It was obvious they shared some guilty secret.

Then she looked at the red-faced Hattie, who was looking at the floor with self-conscious scrutiny. Slowly her eyes focused on Idris, who was thumping the cushions of the armchair, beating time to some silent dirge of his own. In that brief moment of time, Rosita knew that the problem,
whatever
it was, involved Hattie and Idris. But what could it be? She remembered seeing Hattie and Idris in her car and wondered if they had done more than a bit of furtive kissing. But no, Idris wouldn’t be that stupid. Perhaps he had ‘tried it on’ with someone and Richard had
discovered
it? Or worse, perhaps Kate had somehow learned of it.

Unaccountably, Rosita felt shame. Idris had certainly ‘tried it on’ with her and she had ignored it. Why hadn’t she faced him and told him that if he didn’t behave she would tell his mother? For an adored son like Idris, that might have been enough to warn him off. Or at least make him think twice about having an affair while his wife and children were away from home.

‘Idris wasn’t alone while we were away, Mam,’ Kate said softly. ‘I found evidence that he’d had … company.’ She didn’t say female company but it was implied by the seriousness of her expression.

‘Never!’ Mrs Carey gasped. ‘Oh, Kate, love, you must be mistaken. Not my Idris.’

‘I had a few pals around, that’s all, Mam. You’d think, listening to Kate, I’d done something real wicked. Thieving or burglary.’ He smiled at Richard, unable to resist reminding Richard of his early career.

‘Oh, just some friends!’ His mother looked relieved. ‘Well, now, you can’t blame him for that, Kate, him being unwell an’ all.’

Kate didn’t say any more, unwilling to upset her mother-in-law, knowing
perhaps that whatever revelations she announced, they would be twisted into something innocent.

The party broke up soon after, and Idris and a pale, silent Kate took their girls home. Hattie followed them at a slight distance, as if unsure if she should. Richard and Rosita stayed a while, wanting to smooth over the disquiet of the previous moments. Perhaps now they could tell his parents their news. In his chair, Henry Carey snored rather noisily and their derisory laughter was also loud, glad of the chance to release some of the tension.

‘What was up with Kate and Idris, then?’ Mrs Carey asked. ‘I know there was something, so don’t try and tell me different. Is she angry with him because he didn’t keep the house tidy? Or for leaving dishes piled up in the sink? Men are like that. Always have been and always will be. She shouldn’t start a row when she’s been away for a week. Now isn’t the time.’

She didn’t seem to expect answers so Rosita and Richard stayed
thankfully
silent.

Rosita gathered up the last of the wrapping paper and Mrs Carey made tea. Richard sat staring out of the window, wondering what would happen between Kate and his foolish brother. It had spoilt the homecoming. He had imagined the family sharing his delight when he announced that he and Rosita were planning to marry. Now the event had been soured. Damn that brother of his.

Richard glanced at his father, who seemed safely asleep, then quietly told Rosita about finding Idris in bed with another woman. To save her distress, he didn’t tell her the woman was Hattie.

‘And Kate knows?’

‘She’s guessed.’

‘Poor Kate. I thought she meant a woman, from the way she said he’s had “company” in her absence. Auntie Molly Carey will never believe it, you know. He’s a fool, that brother of yours. Imagine Kate’s humiliation discovering that while she was away, Idris was finding comfort with another woman. Poor Kate. I won’t know what to say to her tomorrow. It’s such – such an insult.’

Richard thought of how much worse it would have been if Rosita had known who the other woman was. He hoped she would never find out.

When Mrs Carey came in with a tray of tea, she stopped beside Henry, whose snores had ceased, and nudged him.

‘Tired out, he is. Slept a lot while we were away. I think all the walking and pushing our way through the crowds was too much. He loved every minute, mind,’ she added, not wanting Richard to regret arranging the holiday for them. ‘Never seen him so happy.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better to get him to bed, Mam?’ Richard suggested. ‘He doesn’t look very comfortable, slumped like that.’

‘Here’s your tea, Henry. Come on,
cariad
, push that stupid dog off and drink this. You’ll never sleep tonight, dozing at this time.’

There was no response and she placed the cup and saucer on the table near him. It was ten minutes more before they realized Henry Carey was dead.

The rest of the night was a blur. For a few moments, after realizing he was gone from them, they all sat, unmoving, numb with the suddenness and shock. When Mrs Carey did move it was like an old, old woman, completely different from the bird-like brightness she usually displayed.

Rosita helped Mrs Carey take the dog away and cover the face of her dead husband, while Richard made telephone calls. Idris came back and hugged his mother, bringing forth her tears. He sat beside her, his arms holding her, and Richard was grateful to him for being able to give some comfort to his stunned mother.

It took half an hour of that dreadful, uneasy silent waiting before the doctor came and declared Henry dead. Then, more waiting, interspersed with a visibly shaking Mrs Carey making tea that no one wanted but which they all drank.

Rosita went straight from the Careys’ house to the shop to open up and sell newspapers. Her first customer was Monty and she told him what had happened.

‘Can I use your phone?’ he asked. She heard him telling Richard that he would deal with everything that day and call to see him after work that evening.

‘It was such a shock,’ she told Monty. ‘We were laughing at him, sitting there nursing that dog of his. And all the time he was …’

‘Best way to go but hard for those left behind.’ The platitudes always came more easily than original remarks and were somehow more
reassuring
.