The Lost Days of Summer (37 page)

Kath, who had never heard Owain enter into direct confrontation with his elderly relative, began to mumble that if they were late it was her fault. But the old man, who had continued solidly munching at the food his wife had set before him, suddenly looked up and, after a cautious glance at his wife, gave Kath a small smile and a large wink.

Immensely heartened by this sign of understanding, Kath winked back, then sat down, not attempting to help when the old woman began to ladle portions of stew on to their plates. Owain’s taid pushed the tureen of potatoes towards the young couple, saying as he did so: ‘Well, on time or late, no one can beat my good wife’s Irish stew. Eat up, for when we have our own place at the Swtan, down by the shore, you’ll have to make do with whatever the two of you can produce.’

Owain, solidly munching, raised his brows at that. ‘Kath is a grand cook; no one can better her puddings and pies, to say nothing of her beef scouse,’ he said supportively, if untruthfully. ‘Pass the salt, Taid.’

For the next three or four weeks, Kath and Owain spent some time almost every day working at the Swtan. When Owain was needed at Ty Hen, either one of the farmhands or a girl from the village came to help Kath, and as she told her husband it was a pleasure to see the longhouse gradually return to its former glory.

By the time July was into its stride, the place shone and was fully furnished. Warm woollen curtains graced every window, made to match the deep red carpet with which Kath had covered the floor in the living room. The fire in the range lit up the crockery on the old Welsh dresser, and flickered on the basket of logs and on the grandmother clock, which ticked away the hours on the opposite wall. The long wooden table was covered with cheerfully patterned oilcloth and the dairy contained everything necessary to make butter and cheese, as well as the equipment for bottling and preserving when fruit and vegetables were ripe. There was a large barrel full of salt, and smaller ones which would contain Taid’s salted fish. There was a washtub with dolly pegs, and outside a clothes line stretched from the corner of the Swtan to the ty bach at the end of the garden. In the spare bedroom, Owain had driven hooks into the wall to hold the tin bath, which would be taken down and filled with kettlefuls of hot water so that the occupants of the longhouse might bath themselves before the roaring fire.

‘I wish I could live here myself, with the sea so near and so little housework needing my attention,’ Kath said almost wistfully when she and Owain closed the green-painted door of the Swtan and set off for home once more, having agreed that the little house was as perfect as they could make it. ‘Oh, of course I love Ty Hen, wouldn’t want to live anywhere else really, but it is a big house and there are acres and acres of farmland and a great many beasts. We never seem to stop working, though I suppose it will be easier once the old folk leave.’

Owain gave a derisive snort, then looked guiltily at his wife. ‘We shall still be responsible for providing them with everything they need,’ he reminded her. ‘At present, they can still manage most things – milking a couple of cows, feeding the calves, driving the pony and cart to market when they need to buy or to sell. But as they get older they’ll have to lean on us because there’s no one else.’

‘But you’ve a huge family,’ Kath objected. ‘I remember you saying that as a boy, though you had no brothers or sisters, you never lacked companions for you had a dozen aunts and uncles and so many cousins they were beyond counting. Wouldn’t they help out?’

Owain shook his head. ‘It’s not that they wouldn’t help, but since the war the family have got pretty widely scattered; there’s no one living near except us and though Nain and Taid have other grandchildren, I was the only one they actually brought up. As you know, my parents died before I was a year old, my mother shortly after I was born and my father of blood poisoning, so you see I owe it to Nain and Taid to look after them as they once looked after me.’

‘I do understand that,’ Kath said thoughtfully. ‘But tell me, Owain; what did Taid say when you suggested they should move into the Swtan?’

He gave her a conspiratorial grin. ‘He said it would be the saving of his marriage.’ Satisfied with the effect his words had produced, he went on, ‘At first he simply went along with Nain’s behaviour towards you because like most men he wanted an easy life, but gradually he began to feel uncomfortable. He tried to make Nain see that what she was doing was hurting not only you and me, but the farm as well, and when I suggested it he realised that the move to the Swtan might well be the answer.’

‘But what does Nain herself think of the idea? I don’t imagine she can have been too keen.’

‘I don’t believe she knows yet,’ Owain admitted. ‘Taid wants to be the one to tell her, and I think he’s decided that when the place is absolutely ready he’ll drive her over in the pony trap and surprise her with a fait accompli.’

‘Oh dear,’ Kath said in a hollow voice. ‘If she doesn’t like it she’ll blame me, and if she does like it she’ll resent the fact that she has been kept in the dark and blame me for that. Oh well, they tell me daughters-in-law always get the blame for everything and I’m the next best thing to a daughter-in-law, so why should I be different?’

Owain laughed and gave her a quick hug. ‘It’ll be all right, I’m sure it will,’ he said. ‘And if it isn’t you’ll hardly need to know, because once they’re settled in the Swtan they’ll scarcely ever come up to Ty Hen. When we visit them, it will be to take supplies of some sort. And Taid has promised to stress that the cleaning and furnishing of the Swtan was all your own work. So stop worrying and begin to look forward to being mistress of your own home at last.’

Kath was in the kitchen, taking an apple pie out of the oven, when Owain popped his head round the back door. He sniffed the air, redolent of baking, and came right into the room. He was carrying a large wicker basket, which he set down on the kitchen table with a thump. ‘You said you’d clean some of the best and biggest vegetables for the harvest festival service next Sunday,’ he said hopefully. Kath pointed to a pile of beautifully clean carrots, onions, swedes and turnips lying at the far end of the table, and with a grateful smile Owain began to transfer them to one end of the wicker basket which, Kath saw, was already laden with fruit from their trees. ‘Now all we want is Nain and Taid’s contribution, which will be those special potatoes they promised me last time I saw them.’ He grinned at his wife, then indicated the hooks by the kitchen door with a jerk of his head. ‘Get your coat on, cariad. It’s time you stopped shilly-shallying and making excuses, and came along to the Swtan with me. After all, it’s eight or nine weeks since the old folk moved in and every time I go there I think Nain is more mellow, less aggressive. Taid is really happy. I’ve not had much chance to speak to him privately, but when I took them a sack of that new cattle feed he said he was sure they would both welcome a visit from us – us, mark you, not me – and I promised to bring you with me next time I came.’

Kath sighed, but took down her light jacket, for though September was half over it was still sunny and warm. They had had wonderful crops and a good harvest, and though she had wondered at first how she would get on she had soon fallen into the sort of comfortable routine that had never been possible whilst her in-laws lived at Ty Hen.

Now, eyeing the enormous basket of fruit and vegetables, she wondered aloud where the potatoes would go. Owain laughed and heaved his burden up on one arm. ‘I mean to leave this lot on the slate shelf in the dairy, where it’s cool,’ he explained, heading outside again. ‘Knowing Nain, I’m sure she’ll have everything ready for us, including a basket lined with hay so the potatoes don’t get marked by the wickerwork.’

They entered the dairy and Owain dumped his burden on the slate shelf with a sigh of relief, then looked under his lashes at his wife. ‘I thought we might take a couple of pats of butter, some cheese and one of your apple cakes as a present for the old ones, since Nain is bound to offer us a cup of tea,’ he said rather diffidently. ‘Both she and Taid enjoy apple cake and there are no fruit trees at the Swtan; it’s too near the sea for them to flourish.’

‘Good idea; I’m sure they won’t refuse a gift,’ Kath said hopefully, but in fact she wasn’t sure at all. Still, if Owain’s grandmother claimed to have too much butter and cheese already, and to dislike apple cake, at least she and Owain would have done their best.

Once they were spinning along the lane to the Swtan, however, Kath became increasingly nervous. She had enjoyed the weeks which had followed her in-laws’ departure with increasing pleasure; she had always liked cooking and it was nice to see Owain’s appreciation of every dish she set before him. Nain was a good cook, but not an inventive one. When Kath had suggested that a glut of eggs and milk might become delicious egg custards, the old lady claimed that there was no such dish and sent the dairymaid home with a basket full of eggs to be given to needy villagers. When Kath had dared a reproach, she had said, sourly, that she would rather see them given to the poor of the village than hand them over to Kath to spoil.

Kath had thought that it was always windy on the island, but today only the gentlest of breezes blew, and as they came within sight of the Swtan she began to feel less apprehensive. After this duty visit was paid and over, she and Owain might go down to the shore and dig up some cockles for their tea, paddle in the pools, and perhaps even bathe, for though Kath had never learned, Owain was a strong swimmer and had offered to teach her.

With this thought in the forefront of her mind, she jumped down as the pony and trap came to a halt alongside the small green gate. Owain handed down the basket containing the goodies they had packed for the old couple, and then tied the pony to the tethering post. Kath approached the door, feeling very like Little Red Riding Hood. ‘And Nain is the wolf,’ she was telling herself as the door swung open and the old woman’s face appeared in the aperture.

Kath pinned a bright smile to her face and approached the door with a lively step. ‘How lovely to see you, Nain. Owain and I have called for the potatoes, and we’ve brought—’ She stopped short and stepped back just as the door slammed resoundingly in her face, cutting off the words she was about to speak.

Kath gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. She felt inclined to turn and run, but Owain, coming up behind her, grabbed her arm with fingers of steel. He leaned forward, lifted the latch and kicked the door open, then strode into the room. Kath risked a glance at his face and saw it black with rage. ‘Sit down!’ he commanded her, then turned to his grandmother, who faced up to him like a little bantam confronting a great cockerel, the fury on her features as plain as that on his.

‘This is
my
house, and I shall say who may pass my threshold,’ she hissed. ‘You are welcome in my home, as are all of my blood, but she—’

‘Unless you accept my wife, take the gifts she has brought you and apologise for the way you have treated her today – no, the way you have always treated her – then I shall never visit this house again,’ Owain said, and now his voice was cold as ice, though his eyes still blazed. ‘Well?’

‘How dare you speak to your own nain in such a wicked fashion?’ the old woman began, but her husband, who had been sitting on the settle by the fire, laid aside the sail he was patching and got to his feet.

‘Mind your words, Eirwen,’ he said warningly. ‘Our boy means what he says and if he goes, then I go.’ The old man’s voice for once was firm and his face, when Kath turned to look at him, was set, his chin jutting.

Kath waited as the silence stretched and stretched, but in the end it was she who broke it. ‘What a pretty name, Eirwen,’ she said musingly. ‘If I’m ever lucky enough to have a little girl, I shall call her Eirwen.’

The words, spoken softly, did the trick, broke the ice which had formed almost visibly around the protagonists. Nain sat down abruptly, took a deep breath and spoke stiffly. ‘I believe I forgot myself; to turn a visitor away goes against Welsh hospitality. Naturally, as my grandson’s wife, I must make you welcome.’

Some of the tension eased and Owain went over to the fire and pulled the kettle over the flame. ‘I shall make tea, Nain, whilst you apologise for the words we shall all remember, no matter how hard we try to forget,’ he said softly. But Kath could hear the latent threat in his tone and was not surprised when his grandmother actually brought herself to meet Kath’s eyes and to mutter that she was sorry if anything she’d said had caused offence.

Taid began to say that since the Swtan was his home as well as his wife’s he must share in the apology, but the kettle boiled at this point and in the bustle of brewing the tea, putting the apple cake on a plate and slicing it, the matter of apologising was put aside, much to Kath’s relief. She had no desire to humiliate either of the old people, and thought it best that they should now proceed as if the enmity had never existed.

So they ate and drank, the women leaving the burden of conversation to their menfolk, and when Owain wiped his mouth and got to his feet, saying that he was going to take his wife down to the shore to dig some cockles, neither Nain nor Taid begged them to stay.

It had not been an easy half-hour – it had felt more like a week to Kath – and both parties were anxious to part as soon as possible, but with at least the semblance of normality. Owen went out to the shed and fetched a couple of spades and two elderly buckets, and then they set off for the beach. Kath had scarcely realised how tense she had felt until they had left the Swtan behind them, whereupon both she and Owain let out a long sigh of relief, then turned and smiled at one another.

‘Oh, Kath, I’m so sorry to put you through that,’ Owain said as soon as they were well out of earshot of the cottage. ‘Nain was so rude, so hateful! But I honestly believe that we did the right thing by making her aware of her behaviour. I know it was a bit sticky even after she’d apologised, but I’m sure we’ve put things straight now. In fact next time she wants a lift into Holyhead, you should be the one to take her, instead of me or one of the farmhands. Now that the ice has been broken we mustn’t let it form again. You and Nain will doubtless become good friends if you can meet one another on neutral ground. I do believe the trouble was mainly because the old saying is true: two women in one kitchen won’t go. Now that you’ve both got your own place, you’ll go on as merrily as a wedding bell.’