Time to Move On (17 page)

‘That isn’t possible, you have to be there at night.’

Grudgingly Ed promised to stay, but explained that he would be in the Ship for the lunchtime and evening sessions. ‘It’ll be hard mind,’ he said, ‘but I’ll do it. For Elsie,’ he added, hoping for sympathy and praise for his understanding.

Mark politely suggested that unless he had another job and somewhere to live, he might want to see if the new owner would offer both.

‘My sister and I own the Ship and Compass,’ he lied. ‘So I have both. Right?’ He glared at the solicitor and added, ‘I was never dependant on my wife for either.’

Murmuring apologies, Mark showed him out.

Ed moved his things back into the room he had lived in before his marriage and settled to a bit of comfort and spoiling. He slept at the guest house but spent the rest of the time at the Ship. He made no effort to find
work and gradually began to go into the bar and serve.

A week later, towards the end of April, Betty picked up Ed’s washing, having cleaned and tidied his room, which he used for much of the day. Newspapers had been left unfolded, books spread around among plates containing half-eaten food and glasses and cups abandoned for her to clear away. The demand for sympathy about his wife’s death had gone on too long. He couldn’t continue like this, laze the days away and expect her to ignore his behaviour.

She missed Alun and grieved for his departure and as well as that, Ed was taking her for a fool. Anger towards her brother was growing. She’d had one chance of happiness in her hard working life and he had ruined it.

Depositing the clothes near the washing boiler, she went to stand at the door into the bar room. Ed was leaning on the bar chatting to a friend while several people were waiting to be served.

‘Ed,’ she called sharply. ‘There are customers waiting.’

Ed whispered something to the group of men around him and they glanced at Betty and laughed. Betty went forward and held her hand out for the money which they seemed reluctant to give. She suspected that as well as spending time talking to his group of so-called friends, Ed was supplying them with free drinks. Laughing at her at the same time was more than she could bear.

‘Go down a fetch some bottles to fill the shelves, will you?’ she said. ‘And while you’re there check on the barrel, it needs to be up on the cradle today, ready for opening.’

‘I did all that earlier,’ he said, with a sigh for the benefit of his friends. ‘She’s got no understanding of how bereft I feel,’ he told them. ‘It’s only weeks since I lost my Elsie and my home.’

Betty heard the words – as he had intended. ‘Go and get the bottles, Ed. We’ll need them before the end of the evening.’ Her voice was harsh as she pushed him away from the bar and on his way. Then she turned to the men whom she suspected of being supplied with free drinks. ‘Now I’m asking you to leave. Immediately, please, and without any fuss and I don’t want to see you here again.’ As one man prepared to argue, she gestured with her thumb into the back room where the telephone stood. ‘Go now or I’ll call the police. Scrounging from my brother might not seem like a crime, but this is my pub and you’re stealing from me. I won’t have that and I’m warning you, nor will I put up with you causing a fuss when I tell you to leave.’ She looked across the room and called, ‘Bob, Colin, would you mind escorting these, er, gentlemen to the door?’

When Ed came back with some bottles he looked around for his friends and Betty said, ‘They’ve gone and they won’t be coming back. I’ll give you till the end of the month to collect your things and sort
everything
out, then you can go, too.’

He laughed nervously but a look at Betty’s face convinced him she was serious. ‘I don’t want to stay here anyway and have you treat me like a servant, and my friends like criminals!’ he muttered. ‘I’ll stay at the guest house, I promised to do so anyway, until this Mary Anne Crisp turns up. I only came back to help you!’

‘In that case you won’t need a month, will you?’ She stared at him coldly. ‘Shall we say now this minute? You can talk to Mark Lacy
tomorrow
and I’m sure he’ll agree.’ She didn’t sleep that night. Why hadn’t she spoken to Alun sooner? Why had she allowed her brother to manipulate her and settle himself back under her roof? She wondered whether Ed had spoken to Alun and planted the idea that she had been glad of the excuse to ask him to leave.

Alun would certainly have cramped Ed’s style, and he would have spotted him treating his so-called friends much sooner that I did, she thought sadly. Where had he gone? She wracked her brain trying to think of places he mentioned where she might find him. The only place she knew was Jake Llewellyn’s boatyard in Barry, where Alun had worked for a while. Perhaps Jake knew where she’d find him. Then melancholy sank deeply into her heart as she thought he might not want to be found.

After long discussions starting with practicalities and ending with daydreams, Seranne and Babs wrote to Mr Griffiths asking if he would consider selling the café. A reply came at once stating that he had no intention of parting with it and if they were unhappy they could look elsewhere for employment.

‘We could wait until your parents move out of the baker’s shop, and into the new one,’ Seranne suggested. ‘If we could buy or rent it we’d be rivals and you’d certainly have your big kitchen too. Mr Griffiths won’t like that but he wouldn’t be able to stop us, would he?’

‘Perhaps we could let him know that?’ Babs suggested with a surge of hope. Later that day Babs called to see Mrs Rogers, who knew the Griffithses, even though she no longer worked for them. ‘Did you know Seranne and I offered to buy the café?’ she said. ‘Mr Griffiths refused but it doesn’t matter. We’re thinking of taking over the baker’s shop when my family move to the new premises. Exciting, isn’t it? Rivals we’ll be, but ours will be smarter, a tea rooms rather than a “caff”, more upmarket, so
he’d better look out!’

Alarmed at the prospect of a rival café opening across the road, Mr Griffiths re-considered. At the end of April a solicitor’s letter arrived offering them the business. The price was too high but they got Mark Lacy involved and eventually their offer was accepted. The negotiations were swiftly dealt with and they would soon be the proud owners of the premises and furniture and fittings of a café, to be called The Wayfaring Tree.

That weekend, Seranne went with Babs to see her parents, longing to tell them the news but not wanting to tell them on the phone. As before, Seranne didn’t tell them she was coming, she wanted to see how things were, not have the problems disguised. Sundays had always been quiet days, with her mother and herself eating a simple lunch after spending the morning making sure the orders were written and the accounts up to date. Everything in the café below had always been left scrubbed clean and ready to open up on Monday morning, only requiring a light
dusting
before setting the tables and starting on the cooking.

She held her breath as she tried the door but it was locked and there was no reply to her knocking. She took out the key and let them inside. Surely Paul wouldn’t object to her bringing a friend into what was still her home? It was 11.30 and she carried the details of hers and Babs’s new venture for her mother to see and they talked as they walked up. Yet the place was silent, no door opened to greet them and when they reached the living room, abandoned plates of food lay around on the coffee table and other surfaces.

‘Mum?’ she called and at last, a sleepy Jessie appeared, wearing a dressing-gown, her hair lank and her eyes bleary.

‘Seranne! What a lovely surprise. And Barbara, how lovely. But why didn’t you tell us? We were out last night until heaven alone knows how late, and we overslept.’ She kissed Seranne and hugged Babs. ‘I’ll see if I can rouse darling Paul.’

Seranne and Babs didn’t exchange a word but they both began
clearing
the litter of dishes, cups and glasses which they took into the kitchen.

Paul appeared and stopped them as they prepared to wash them. ‘Seranne, my dear, come and sit down, you don’t have to do this. We don’t fuss about such things, life is for living, not for worrying about what other people think, that’s how we feel, isn’t it Jessie? Relax and enjoy, that’s our motto.’

‘And what about the tea rooms?’ Seranne couldn’t resist asking.

‘Oh, we leave that to Mrs Sewell. She’s a marvel.’

Both went to get dressed and it was some time before they were able to discuss their new business venture and at once Paul took an interest. ‘If you want me to look over the books, see how healthy the business is, I’d be happy to help,’ he said, walking into the kitchen where Jessie was making tea and toast.

‘Seeing the mess he’s created since looking after our once thriving business,’ Seranne hissed to Babs, ‘I’d be more likely to trust a five-
year-old
.’

Their breakfast dishes were piled with the rest and Paul followed Seranne as she walked around the flat and was clearly reluctant to allow her to go into the café, but she insisted, politely but firmly and, gesturing for Babs to follow, she went downstairs. The windows were even dirtier than before, the floor hadn’t been swept let alone washed, the faulty heater cord had not been replaced and the windows that were broken hadn’t been dealt with.

She mentioned these things to her mother, who took out a notebook. ‘I’ll remind Pat tomorrow,’ she said, closing the book with a snap as though the petty problems were already dealt with. When she and Seranne were alone for a moment, she said, ‘Don’t be angry, darling. I know I neglect the business but I’m so happy with Paul. Going out and having fun is something I gave up on for so many years and now, while I’m still young enough to dance and meet friends for meals and go to the theatre and cinema, well, I admit I find it irresistible. Paul is wonderful company and apart from a couple of evenings when he goes to the pub and has a few drinks with his friends and business colleagues we’re together every moment.’

‘But the tea rooms, Mum. They used to be so beautiful, you did
everything
so well, but now …’

‘Oh, Pat manages the tea rooms,’ Jessie said casually dismissing them as a triviality. ‘Not as well and you and I did of course, but what are a few overcooked scones and flat sponges in a lifetime? We gave them too much importance.’

‘Funny you should say that, Mum, because Babs and I are buying that café and my intention is to make it as near Jessica’s Victorian Tea Rooms as I possibly can.’

‘Good luck, but don’t make yourself a slave to it.’

‘Is that what you think it was? Slavery?’

‘Compared to life with Paul? Oh yes!’

As Seranne and Babs drove back to Cwm Derw, Seranne mused about her mother’s remarks. Since she had known Paul, Jessie’s personality had
changed beyond recognition. The work of running the tea rooms
efficiently
, making sure everything was perfect, that had been her life. Now she seemed to go from one entertainment to the next without giving the place a thought. Yet who was she to say her mother was wrong? Was it so terrible to include some fun in her life? Jessie had always worked hard: like Seranne, she had worked with her parents from the age of twelve. Surely she was entitled to enjoy the freedom? Neglecting what had once been an elegant and popular place for friends to meet was hardly a crime.

She tried to convince herself everything was fine, but there was an underlying fear that her mother’s happiness would be short-lived, that Paul would become tired of her, enjoy this interlude and, when her money ran out, would leave her. She pushed the worrying thought aside and instead, remarked to Babs about how energetic her mother must be at the great age of almost forty-one, to practically dance till dawn with women twenty years younger!

‘Being determined to keep up with Paul – who’s at least six years younger – must be a good incentive,’ Babs said with a laugh. The flippant remark intensified Seranne’s concern.

When they reached Badgers Brook, Luke was sitting in his car outside the gate. Kitty was leaning through the passenger window and she ducked out and waved when she saw them. ‘I’ve been trying to persuade Luke to come and have a cup of tea with us,’ she said.

‘I have a delivery to make and I didn’t want to leave it in the car
unattended
,’ he explained. He stepped out and from the boot handed her a cardboard box. Another was given to Babs and a third, the largest, he carried himself. Kitty hesitated about following and he said. ‘Go ahead of us and open the door, will you, Kitty? I don’t want any of these dropped.’

Seranne slowly opened the lid of the first box and moved the layers of tissue and newspapers that protected the contents. Impatiently Babs said, ‘Hurry up! What is it?’

The papers parted and revealed the china teapots that had once graced the shelves of Jessie’s tea rooms. The rest were carefully examined and, seeing the china that had once decorated her mother’s shelves made Seranne frown. ‘I don’t understand?’

‘Simple. Your mother and Paul sold them and I bought them back, in case you would like them for your new enterprise.’

‘But, how did you know about our “new enterprise”? Oh, don’t tell me, Mrs Rogers is an aunt. And I suppose the man who bought them from my mother is an uncle?’

‘Uncle Ray, yes. You must meet him.’ He didn’t explain that it was Paul
who had sold them or that it was highly likely her mother had known nothing about it.

Like children at Christmas, Seranne and Babs carefully unpacked the lovely items and discussed where best to place them. ‘Thank you,’ Seranne’s eyes were starry with delight. ‘We’ll need some good shelves. You don’t have an uncle who’s a carpenter, do you.’ she asked with a wide smile.

‘Of course. Uncle Frank and my cousin George will fit some shelves for you.’

‘Thank you, Luke. I can’t tell you how happy I am to have them. I presumed Mum had them stored somewhere and if you hadn’t found them I’d never have known they were sold. Tell me how much they cost you and I’ll get the money from the bank tomorrow.’

‘No rush. I’ll have to pay my Uncle Ray first and he’s notoriously slow sending out invoices.’