The Lost Days of Summer (43 page)

He had slipped his arm round her waist as he spoke, and the two of them had headed for the rock pools, Nell’s mind in a turmoil. So this was what other girls were talking about when they spoke of being in love! She had given Hywel a quick, sideways glance from under lowered lids, and had seen that he was doing the same. They had simultaneously begun to laugh, easing what she now realised had been the almost unbearable tension.

When they had returned to the boat with their bucketful of prawns, he had helped her aboard and then said seriously: ‘I haven’t asked if you feel the same about me as I do about you, because it’s early days and you really are very young. But remember, you’re mine.’ Then he had given her a brilliant smile and leaned over to squeeze her hand. ‘Has the cat got your tongue, cariad? I’ve never known you so quiet.’

‘I’m – I’m speechless,’ Nell had admitted in a small voice. ‘And as for that sweet sixteen business, I don’t know that age is terribly important. But I’d like to be your girl, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Right,’ Hywel had said briskly, pulling up the anchor, which was only an old tin that filled with water when thrown overboard. ‘And now we’d better examine Toddy’s pots, see if we can bag ourselves a lobster.’

Hywel knew where Toddy laid his pots, but the first three they had pulled to the surface were empty. The fourth, though, contained an extremely angry lobster. It had snapped its claws at them every time they moved and Nell had suggested throwing it back since she had visions of it pursuing her around the boat, but Hywel had laughed, squeezed her hand and said it would do no such thing. ‘We’ve no bait with us, so we’ll take it back in the lobster pot. We’ll get Toddy to boil it in the outhouse, so you won’t have to hear its screams,’ he had said ghoulishly. ‘Did you know they scream when they’re boiled? Well, wouldn’t you?’

This remark had so appalled Nell that she had grabbed the pot and tried to throw it overboard. A lively struggle had ensued, during which Hywel tried to silence her with kisses and finally assured her that the lobster would be dead before ever it met the boiling water. ‘I was kidding you, honest to God I was,’ he had said, sitting down on the lobster pot and drawing a finger across his throat. ‘See this wet, see this dry, cut my throat if I tell a lie. There’s a spot on its head, just between the eyes; you drive a skewer in and it dies at once. It doesn’t know a thing, I swear it doesn’t.’

Nell had grudgingly agreed that if this really was the case they would take the lobster back to the Swtan with them. ‘Only Maggie’s never tasted lobster, so can we ask Toddy for a little bit to take home?’ she had asked hopefully. Hywel had agreed and suggested that they should throw out a couple of lines, and by the time they had turned the
Maud
towards what Hywel referred to as her home port, they had a good catch of what Hywel told her were codling flapping in the bottom of the boat.

As the
Maud
grounded, Hywel lifted Nell on to dry land, giving her a quick peck on the back of the neck as he did so. Nell gave a squeak of protest as she saw Toddy descending the cliff, and hoped his attention was on the sharp descent. He was carrying a large reed basket in one hand, which he waved at them as he hurried towards their small craft.

‘Saw you coming into the bay as I was getting water from the well,’ he shouted. ‘Remembered you’d not taken anything to bring your catch home in.’ He reached them, threw the basket into the well of the boat and then joined them, straining to pull the
Maud
up the shingle and on to the sand. Then he peered into the boat. ‘Ah, I see you’ve got a lobster; big feller, isn’t he? And some codling.’ He smacked his lips. ‘Which will you have for your tea, then? I’ve put the spuds on to boil, though meself, I prefer bread and butter wi’ lobster.’

‘We-ell . . .’ Nell began; would it be awfully rude to ask if she might take some of the lobster back to Ty Hen? But once more, Toddy solved the problem for her.

‘It’s quite a big ’un, but that’s a grand lot of codling you’ve brought in. What say we send the lobster – cooked, of course – back to Ty Hen for the old lady’s tea, whilst we have a feast of fish?’

Nell was about to ask which old lady he had in mind when she realised he was referring to Auntie Kath. She repressed an indignant rejection of the phrase and chuckled to herself. What was sauce for the goose was also sauce for the gander; Aunt Kath continually referred to ‘the old feller’ or ‘that old man’, so why should not Toddy refer to her as an old lady? If the couple ever met they would be in for a big surprise . . . she only hoped it would be a pleasant one!

Back at the Swtan, the lobster and Hywel disappeared into the cow byre, Hywel armed with a wicked-looking skewer, and Toddy and Nell went to the large stone sink on the outside of the building, which Toddy had already filled with water. They emptied the reed basket into the sink and Toddy produced a gutting knife, then jerked his head at the wooden bench alongside the door. ‘You’ve done all the work of catching our supper, so you can sit quiet and watch me preparing them for the pan,’ he said. ‘We’ll boil the prawns up later; I may leave them till tomorrow since we’ve so many fish.’

‘Do you salt fish down for the winter?’ Nell asked, perching herself on the bench. ‘I’m not keen on it myself, but I know it’s a high treat for some.’

Toddy chuckled. ‘Aye, but not this little lot; by the time they’re gutted and rolled in flour, they’ll make a grand meal for the three of us with not a lot left over. And now you can tell me how you like living on Anglesey.’

The reed basket was beside her on the bench, and Nell moved up as Toddy began to throw the split and gutted fish into it. She started to tell him how she loved the island, but even as she did so she felt a sudden chill, as though the wind had changed direction to blow upon her back. She put up with it for a moment, then shuffled further along the bench, away from the door. Immediately, the little wind – if it had been a little wind – ceased to blow and she and Toddy chatted idly for a while. Nell learned that he not only kept two cows, one of which was always in calf, but had a grand big sow from which he hoped to breed. ‘I’ve not gone in for sheep because I don’t have the time to chase after ’em when they go wandering,’ he explained. ‘And I’ve no dog as yet, though I mean to get one. The sow’s in a sty and the poultry come to the henhouse at nights, which keeps them safe from foxes, but sheep are so empty-headed that if they’re not shepherded properly they’ll hand their lambs to old Reynard on a plate.’ Toddy laughed. ‘Unfortunate phrase, but you know what I mean.’ He finished the last fish, threw it into the reed basket and gave Nell a quizzical look, raising his brows. ‘You’ve moved, I see.’ He picked up the basket and smiled at her. ‘That’ll give you a bit more room; want to move back again?’

‘No thanks,’ Nell said promptly. ‘Sitting by the door I was in a draught, so that’s why I moved. But now you’ve finished gutting the fish, should we go indoors? I’ll help in any way I can, but if you’re going to boil the lobster will there be room on the fire to cook the fish?’

‘The potatoes are just about ready, so I’ll put them in a tureen with a lump of butter and stand ’em on the back of the stove to keep warm. The lobster can cook while we’re eating.’ He cocked one eyebrow at Nell. ‘The fish won’t need more than five minutes, so we’ll be sitting down to our tea before you know it. I’ve not asked you how you enjoyed your boat trip; the pair of you were very flushed and bright-eyed when I helped you pull the boat ashore.’

Nell followed Toddy into the milk room, putting a hand to her hot cheeks when she realised that Toddy must have guessed that she and Hywel had been kissing. She wondered if he guessed how her afternoon with Hywel had changed her life, then shrugged and smiled to herself. What did it matter if he guessed that she and Hywel were more than friends and had cemented their new relationship that very day? She was not ashamed that everyone should know she was Hywel’s girl; she was proud, in fact, although when folk had assumed that she was Bryn’s girl she had objected very much. On the two or three occasions when he had kissed her she had felt embarrassed and annoyed; the tingling rush of pleasure which had assailed her when in Hywel’s arms had been a very different sensation from that engendered by Bryn’s attentions.

Toddy finished flouring the fish and laid it carefully on a plate, which he handed to Nell, raising his brows as he did so. ‘Well, young lady? How did you enjoy your day? I’m rare fond of Hywel; do you feel the same?’

This was frankness with a vengeance! Nell opened her mouth to prevaricate, but her mouth had other ideas. ‘Yes, I’m rare fond of him too,’ she said baldly. ‘And we had a lovely time in the
Maud
.’ She hesitated, then said what was on her mind. ‘When I felt that draught on the bench . . .’

Toddy turned away from her for a moment to pick up the bara brith she had given him that morning. ‘Have you been listening to Hywel’s tall tales? It is odd, though, that you can sit on that bench in full sunshine and yet suddenly feel very cold indeed. I decided it was just a freak weather condition. Is that what you were going to ask me?’

‘Well, not exactly,’ Nell said, following him into the kitchen and putting the plate of fish down on the table. ‘I’d like to know if you think the Swtan is haunted. Or was it just the lads trying to invent a ghost to frighten me? The very first time I came here . . .’

She told him what she thought she had glimpsed, and when she finished he nodded seriously. ‘I’ve seen some strange things – though not what you might call a ghost, not in my time here – but I think that the draught, or cold wind, or whatever you like to call it, is the strangest and needs some explaining.’ He grinned at her. ‘But since I don’t believe in ghosts or similar apparitions, as I say, I decided it was just some quirk of the weather. Hywel has some daft idea that pictures of the past can occasionally be glimpsed, particularly when looking down on the Swtan from the well, but I take no heed of such things.’

Nell giggled. ‘I don’t blame you; I wouldn’t want to share my home with ghosts either,’ she said cheerfully. Toddy was cutting the bara brith and she was buttering each slice on a prettily patterned plate. When this was done, Toddy took down the big, blackened frying pan, set it over the flame and tossed a lump of butter into it. The pan began to smoke and Toddy dropped the floured fillets into it and turned to Nell. ‘Give the lad a shout,’ he commanded. ‘Tell him I’m serving up in five minutes.’

When the meal was over, Hywel and Nell went for a walk, for the tide was now out and the beach stretched before them enticingly, lit by the light of a great, golden full moon. They strolled along, arms round each other’s waists, avoiding the patches of black shadow which might hide a rock pool, and enjoying their new intimacy. ‘We know so little about each other,’ Nell said at one point. ‘Why, we’ve not even met each other’s relatives. And just when we find we’re in love you’re off to the mainland to go before a promotion board, and if you pass you say you’ll probably be sent to another airfield. What if you’re sent abroad? The ship you’re on might founder, or the plane might crash . . . oh, Hywel, couldn’t you change your mind and stay as you are?’

Hywel gave her a quick squeeze, but shook his head. ‘No, cariad; the air force has made up its mind that I’m capable of commanding men. If I pass the board, I’ll be promoted to corporal, but hopefully I’ll still stay on the same airfield. I wonder what the time is?’ He peered at his watch in the moonlight, then gave an exclamation. ‘Goodness! Doesn’t time fly? We’d better get a move on. Good job we’ve got the motorbike, so we can be back at Ty Hen before your aunt starts to worry.’

Despite her best intentions, it was nearly midnight when Hywel and Nell arrived back at Ty Hen. She had been more shaken by Toddy’s placid assumption that she and Hywel were more than friends than she liked to admit, and she had no desire to see the same knowing gleam in Auntie Kath’s eyes, so as soon as they reached the farmyard she begged Hywel to leave.

Hywel chuckled. ‘You’re afraid your aunt and Maggie will guess you’ve been kissed,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with being kissed, eh? I think it clears the mind wonderfully; and it’s fun into the bargain, wouldn’t you say?’

‘No I wouldn’t,’ Nell said firmly, then gave a little squeak as Hywel pulled her into his arms and nuzzled his face into the hollow of her neck.

‘I hope you’re not trying to tell me you don’t enjoy this!’

Nell giggled. ‘Of course I enjoy it, but I don’t want people thinking I’m – I’m a bad girl. You know what I mean, like that Waaf – Joyce, isn’t it? The one they call the station bicycle because . . .’

Hywel began to laugh, putting his hand across Nell’s mouth. ‘You don’t even know what that means. Now let’s just pop into the kitchen so your aunt can see that I’ve brought you home in one piece. And don’t forget to ring me as soon as I’m back to tell me when I can see you again.’

Nell had thought, rather wistfully, that waiting almost a week would be next to unbearable and rang the mess as soon as the time was up, only to be told by an unemotional voice the other end that Corporal Evans’s promotion had come through and he had already left for RAF Tern Hill in Shropshire.

‘Well, miss? I know one can pummel dough without ruining the bread, but aren’t you taking it to extremes? That loaf will likely come out of the oven flat as a perishin’ pancake if you go on beating the living daylights out of it. And don’t forget there’s a war on and ingredients are either on ration or hard to come by. Why, even Merion wasn’t able to find dried fruit on sale last time he was in Dublin. I’d say this bara brith ought to be called Farmhouse Surprise, because if anyone manages as to find a sultana or a currant or even a bit of candied peel in their slice, that’s what it’ll be.’

Nell looked up from her exertions and gave a breathless laugh, which was echoed by Maggie, though Kath continued to frown across at her niece as she stirred the mixture in her big yellow bowl. ‘Sorry, Auntie,’ Nell said. ‘But I’ve finished kneading the dough now; it’s about ready to put in the tins.’

The three women were in the kitchen, having a baking day. Maggie was making pastry and peeling and slicing apples for a pie, and Nell had been entrusted with the making of the week’s supply of bread. Now she picked up the greased loaf tins and began to divide the dough, placing it in the tins and standing them on the hearth to prove before turning back to her aunt. ‘Anything else I can do? If Maggie’s got some pastry left over I could make a batch of cheese straws, or we could have a fruit cobbler.’