Time to Move On (9 page)

But now she was living alone, that habit will be easily lost, she thought with a sigh. Whenever she looked up there would be no one to share the moment with, neither good ones, nor bad. The thought made her feel lonely and she knew that even in the warm friendliness of this wonderful house, she needed someone to share her life. Such a basic need that most took for granted.

Betty slid the bolt across the pub door and switched off the outside light. The bar was its usual muddle of unwashed glasses and dirty plates. Cigarette ends littered the fireplace where the ashes had sunk low and mellowed into a pink glow. She could hear Alun singing in the kitchen and carried a tray of glasses through, to find him filling the huge sink with soapy water to start washing up.

‘Go on, Alun, I’ll see to these tonight, you go up. We’re late tonight and I know you like to read a while before you sleep.’

‘Nonsense. These won’t take long.’ He took the tray from her, his hands touching hers, his fingers stroking, holding them a moment longer than necessary. She looked up and he smiled at her. ‘Go and make our hot drink, what is it tonight, cocoa or Ovaltine?’

‘Isn’t this a dull existence for you, Alun?’

‘I might have thought so once, but that was before I’d met you,’ he said, turning to start on the glasses. ‘I’ve never been happier.’

She didn’t know how to answer, and, afraid of making herself look foolish, she went back to the bar and collected more glasses. He didn’t mean it, he was just being polite. How could someone like him feel anything more than friendship for someone like me? she thought,
pushing
aside foolish hope.

After she had cleaned up in the bar rooms and mopped the floor, she went through the kitchen and began to mix their drinks. He was singing, ‘The bells are ringing, for me and my gal …’ and he said nothing more, just smiled at her as he thanked her for the hot drink. As they went their separate ways to their bedrooms, he patted her shoulder as usual and said goodnight.

She lay for a long time thinking about him, conscious of him being only yards away along the landing. Was she making too much out of what had only been a polite remark? Someone like Alun, who’s a few years younger than my forty-seven years wouldn’t be interested in someone like me, she told herself again.

Because she liked him, was attracted to him, that was the reason she had been flattered and encouraged by his words. That was it. If she hadn’t liked him so much she wouldn’t have given them a moment’s thought. Time she stopped daydreaming like a schoolgirl or she’d lose him. And besides being a hardworking and utterly delightful companion, he was a very good barman.

The café in Cwm Derw remained open every afternoon, but Seranne was given an afternoon off. She had chosen Wednesday because that was the day the of Maes Hir market and it was useful to be able to go shopping. On the Wednesday after her unsettling visit home, she stepped out of the café door to be met by Luke. He gestured towards the MG standing at the kerb. ‘Shall we stop on the way and have lunch?’ he asked by way of greeting. ‘I’m starving and I doubt whether you enjoy eating in the place where you work.’

‘Thank you, but I was going back to Badgers Brook for a sandwich before setting off.’

‘No need.’ He opened the car door and gestured for her to get in. ‘I know just the place. You’ll love it.’

Prepared to argue, she changed her mind and slid into the passenger seat. She expected pretty tea rooms similar to Jessica’s but was surprised when he stopped at a large shed-like building that was surrounded by lorries and cars.

‘This place is for lorry drivers!’ she said outraged. ‘What on earth made you think I would eat at such a place?’

‘Because you’ll like the owners.’ He took her arm as she protested and led her inside to the steamy, noisy place. A few people called to him and several waved a greeting. Finding her a seat at the table where there already sat a young boy and an overweight man dressed in cowboy shirt and denim trousers supported by a wide, ornate belt, he left her and went to the counter to order their food.

‘Known Luke long, have you?’ the man asked.

‘Not really. He’s just giving me a lift to visit my parents.’ She turned away to discourage further questions but the man persisted.

‘He drove lorries for my father for years.’

‘Luke was a lorry driver?’

He nodded and waited until his mouth was empty then added, ‘Until he bought the firm.’

Luke arrived with two plates on which there were some chips and a couple of sausages. ‘You’ve introduced yourselves, have you?’

Trying to look indifferent, Seranne shrugged vaguely.

Seranne, meet my Uncle Pete and my cousin Billy.’

‘Your uncle?’ She tentatively offered a hand which was lost in the huge grip of Uncle Pete, then gently taken by the shy Billy.

‘Got to go, places to see, appointments to keep.’ The two stood up and with a wave were gone.

Seranne didn’t know what to say, so she ate the food, and with more enjoyment than she had expected. ‘That was very good, thank you,’ she told him as she replaced her cutlery across the empty plate.

‘She’s a good cook,’ he said. ‘She’s my auntie.’

She wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him. Wondering whether there were more surprises planned, she got back into the car. ‘Were you really a lorry driver?’

‘I’ve done many different jobs and yes, driving lorries was one of them. I was also a conductor on the buses, and an apprentice carpenter, but I gave that up, I didn’t have the necessary skill.’

The day was full of surprises but the next surprise didn’t come from Luke and it was more a shock. Jessica’s Victorian Tea Rooms was closed.

She knocked on the door and rattled the handle but there was no sound from within. Using her key she went up to the flat and saw that everything was orderly as her mother would have left it. Downstairs it was not. In the tea rooms the tables were still littered with the remains of previous customers, the kitchen showed no evidence of having been recently used – or cleaned – and there was no sign of Pat Sewell.

‘What on earth has happened?’ she exclaimed.

‘Are you sure your mother arranged for this Pat Sewell to run the place? It looks as though it’s been closed for several days.’ He picked up a sandwich from one of the tables and ground it to dry crumbs.

‘I know where she lives,’ she told Luke. ‘Shall I go round? She might be ill.’

They walked to the modest little house and knocked on the door which was opened by Pat Sewell who was dressed in a thick jumper and a woollen skirt, neither very clean.

‘Are you all right?’ Seranne asked. ‘Seeing the tea rooms were closed we – I – wondered if you were ill.’

‘I’m perfectly well, but I could hardly go to the wholesalers for stock
and
work in the tea rooms, could I?’

‘But I don’t understand. Didn’t my mother leave everything you need?’

‘I needed a few things she doesn’t keep. And the baker didn’t deliver the scones this morning and—’

‘Deliver the scones? We always make our own!’

‘
You
might. I don’t. Now if you’ll let me get on – or I won’t be able to reopen for the late afternoon teas.’

‘But what about your daughters, weren’t they going to help?’

‘Got jobs, they did. Typical that is, never here when they’re wanted.’

Ill at ease, but with nothing more to say, they walked away.

‘Do you have the phone number of where your mother’s staying?’ Luke asked as they returned to the car.

‘Yes, but should I telephone and spoil her holiday? Paul seemed to think she needed a break and it’s only two more days before they come back. The damage is done now. It doesn’t look as though she’s opened up since Saturday.’

‘Perhaps you could leave a note then we’ll come back and see them on Saturday evening, or Sunday morning.’

‘Yes, that’s best.’ Then she stared at him. ‘But there’s no need for you to come. This isn’t your problem.’

‘Logically it isn’t yours either. The tea rooms is your mother’s business and you no longer work there. ‘

‘Of course it’s my problem. I didn’t stop being her daughter when I moved a few miles away, did I?’

‘Put your eyes back in Miss Hoity-Toity, they’re sticking out like lollipops!’

She turned to tell him off and was aware of how silly she had sounded so instead she said, ‘Sunday morning?’

‘No.’

‘But I thought you said …’

‘I’ll ask Mrs Rogers if you can leave at midday on Saturday. It would be a good idea to see Pat Sewell in action, don’t you think?’

‘I can’t have another half day.’

‘Instead of next Wednesday? I’ll ask her. She’s my auntie as well.’

She laughed then. ‘I don’t believe you!’

‘Well, not an auntie, but she knows my mother and that’s almost as good.’

To Seranne’s relief the tea rooms were open and very busy that
Saturday. Pat was in the kitchen making sandwiches, some of which she was toasting. ‘Using up stale bread and charging more. Good idea, eh?’ Leaving her to deal with the constant stream of orders, the customers’ chatter interspersed with the cheerful ring of the till, they sat in a corner and waited until a young girl, whom they presumed was Pat’s daughter, came and took their order.

Seranne sat in silence until the order came. A sandwich for her and, unbelievably, sausages and chips for Luke. ‘Sausages and chips?’ she
whispered
. ‘These are tea rooms not a caff! What on earth does she think she’s doing?’

Spearing a sausage, Luke took a bite, chewed and said, ‘Mmm, almost as good as my auntie’s caff!’

‘Not as good as my mother’s cooking,’ Seranne retorted.

Leaving Pat and her daughter to clean up and close, they went for a walk around the village, where a couple of restaurants and a fine public house brought people long distances tempted by the quality of the food. Accepting that there was nothing she could do about the way Pat was managing the place, Seranne relaxed and talked about her childhood, pointing out the places she had known. The park where she played with friends, the tree from which she had fallen, causing a scar on her arm that had never faded, the muddy stream from where they had collected frog spawn and to which they returned the wriggling little tadpoles.

‘I remember falling in a stream about as wide as this one after fighting with my cousin Harry,’ Luke told her. ‘And my cousin Frank pushed me off his swing once and I had a cut on my face that needed stitching.’

‘Have you really got all those aunties? And cousins?’

‘Both my parents came from large families. Why, don’t you have uncles and aunts?’

‘None I know of. My father, that is my real father, had a sister I believe, so I might have a few cousins. But they quarrelled and lost touch years ago.’

‘Oh, is that where you get your temper from?’

Instead of a sharp retort, she smiled. ‘Maybe. I’ll never know, will I?’

When they returned to the tea rooms on Sunday morning, the day was dull and lights shone in the flat above and voices called to them as they ran up the stairs. After the usual hasty declaration that the holiday had been perfect, Paul disappeared downstairs and came up with the cash box and the accounts book. Showing it to Jessie they declared themselves delighted with the way Pat had coped.

If Jessie noticed that the menu included chips, she said nothing. Seeing
the note which she told her mother about finding the place closed, was still on the sideboard, Seranne picked it up and put it in her pocket.

Driving home, Luke stopped the car, looked at her curiously and said, ‘I’m impressed. I thought you’d be unable to resist telling your mother about Pat’s failings. Perhaps you aren’t so bad after all.’

‘Thank you, kind sir!’

‘Now, now. Don’t spoil it!’ He leaned over and kissed her, then drove on. When he stopped at Badgers Brook, she wondered if he would do it again, but he didn’t.

Betty listened as Alun came up the steps from the cellar where he had been whitewashing the walls. He was singing as usual. ‘Long ago and far away, I dreamed a dream one day …’

‘Ready for tea?’ she asked, as he appeared at the top of the steps with the bucket and paint brushes. ‘Go and sit down, I’ll clean up.’ Ignoring his protests, she took the painting equipment from him and went to the outhouse where they kept the cleaning materials. Filling the sink she set to and cleaned everything, then went into the room behind the bar, where he sat waiting for her, a pot of tea ready to pour.

‘I should have done that,’ he protested, gesturing towards the cleaned brushes.

‘Nonsense, you’ve been down in that cellar since eight o’clock.’ She looked at him, noting the unusual faraway look in his clear blue eyes. ‘Anything wrong?’ she asked.

‘No, I was just thinking of how life takes you where it will. We can plan all we like but it sometimes seems that life is already decided for us and our puny efforts are blown away in a puff of wind. Eighteen months ago I had a restaurant of my own and one greedy man – or fate – took it from me.’

‘One day you’ll start again. You did it once so you can do it a second time.’

Alun had owned a successful restaurant but had been robbed by his accountant, Ellis Owen, who had also stolen the profits from a clothing factory where he had been given control of the accounts. Ellis had died in an accident on the cliffs but the money he had stolen was still
awaiting
a court decision on its return. Fraud was difficult to prove when Alun’s own signature had been trustingly written on all the relevant
documents
.

Betty poured a second cup of tea and offered the biscuit tin. Breaking
into his solemn mood, she said, ‘Once the money comes through you can start making plans. I’ll help if I can.’

‘You want me to leave?’

‘Alun, you know I don’t.’ She put a hand on his arm and he covered it with his own. ‘But I understand how much you want to return to what you enjoy.’

‘I enjoy working at the Ship. I didn’t ever imagine I would, but I do.’ He smiled, then finished his tea and stood up. ‘But if I don’t get the bar ready for opening, my landlady will send me on my way.’

‘Difficult boss, is she?’

‘Terrible woman!’

They were washing the floor when Betty’s brother called her and came into the bar.

‘Hello, Ed, how’s Elsie?’ Betty asked automatically.

‘Elsie’s fine and we have seven people staying tonight and tomorrow, three of them walkers.’

‘That’s good for this time of year, isn’t it? So what’s the long face for?’

Alun guessed they were in for one of their arguments and said, ‘Just look at the mud on the floor. I don’t know how he does it but Colin Jones manages to bring mud all the way from his allotment and drops it off on our floor.’ He disappeared to get fresh water leaving them alone.

‘Is Elsie really all right?’ Betty asked softly.

Ed shook his head. ‘She seems to stay at one stage for a while and I begin to think she’ll go on managing as well as she does, then the illness slips a notch further.’

‘I’m tied to opening hours, even with Alun helping, but I’ll do what I can. You need more help, Ed.’

‘No. I can’t take on anyone else. I don’t want her to think we can’t cope. Every time we arrange extra help she knows her condition is
worsening
. I’ll cope for as long as I can.’

Betty was touched by her brother’s intuitive care. Elsie and he hadn’t been married very long but they were obviously very happy. Such a pity they hadn’t met earlier.

Neither of us found time for friendships, we were too content in the Ship, she mused later. Perhaps if Alun and I … but she stopped the thought there. She imagined them standing side by side looking in a mirror. She five feet four and overweight, Alun almost six feet tall and handsome with his beard and those remarkable blue eyes. He wouldn’t have given me a second glance, she told herself sadly.

Pulling herself away from regrets and foolish dreams, she said, ‘Alun,
I think I’d better go over there and see what I can do.’

‘I don’t think Ed wants that, he just needs a shoulder to cry on
sometimes
. I think we should go for a walk instead.’

‘But there’s work to do,’ she protested.

‘Which you’d put aside for someone else but not for yourself? Come on, grab your coat. Wellies I think, don’t you?’

Seranne had gone into work early and without putting on the lights in the café to encourage people to knock and demand to be served, she fastened the seat cushions on the newly painted chairs. It was only half past eight when she stood back and looked at the effect, which was disappointing. The dull walls and the old-fashioned counter detracted from the result and made the place look even shabbier by contrast. Paint was peeling around the door where it had been knocked by countless trays and kicked open by many feet. If only she could persuade Mrs Rogers to pay for some basic decorating, make it look more appealing, surely the business would improve and return the outlay?

She thought with regret of the neat, spotlessly clean tea rooms with its rose-bud curtains and tablecloths, and the valuable, ornate plates and teapots filling the shelves. She wished she were able to make the changes here, but knew from Mrs Rogers’ reaction to the few she had suggested that it was not going to be easy, especially as every comment was treated as a criticism, which made Seranne feel guilty of rudeness.

‘Daydreaming, Seranne? Shouldn’t you have the kettles on and the door unlocked?’ Mrs Rogers hung up her coat and rubbed her hands together. ‘Brr, it’s cold out there. We could be in for some more snow. Thank goodness you turned on the heating.’ She stopped then and looked at the new chair covers. ‘Oh, finished them, have you? A bit bright, aren’t they?’

‘Not really, it’s more that the walls are dull. D’you think we could—’

‘No I don’t, and get that door open. There’s Mrs Greener on her way, coming for a cuppa before getting on the early bus for Barry. Goes to see her sister every week, you ought to know that by now. Opening a bit early for her isn’t a problem for you, is it? Doesn’t spoil your dream of turning this place into a rival to the Ritz?’

Swallowing a response to the sarcasm, Seranne invited Mrs Greener in and took her order for toast and tea. Mrs Rogers was in the kitchen, the toast already beginning to brown under the gas stove grill. She looked apologetic.

‘Sorry I am if I’m not impressed with your ideas to smarten this place
up a bit. But I’m only the manageress and all the owner looks at is the size of the profit.’ She placed the toast on a plate with a small helping of butter, which was mixed with margarine and some milk to make it go further, and handed it to Seranne to take to Mrs Greener.

The milk too was diluted, a pint of water to three pints of milk which was returned to the bottles and the cardboard lids replaced. Customers began to fill the tables and they were kept busy serving cakes and scones and sandwiches until the lunchtime crowd arrived, when they provided chips or boiled potatoes with sausages, spam, or whatever they had managed to buy at the wholesalers with their allocation of food. At two o’clock snow began to fall, silently enfolding the area in its beauty, hiding imperfections and giving dead flowers in the gardens an elegance.

Those who had to come out were enticed in for tea to warm them. Leaving Seranne to cope with the unexpected rush, Mrs Rogers took an hour off for a belated lunch, and when she returned she continued with the earlier conversation as though there hadn’t been a break. ‘Truth is, Seranne, I’m reluctant to spend money unnecessarily. I’ll be leaving here soon and I want to make sure I have a good reference in case I want to get another job. It’s profit that counts with the owner and I want him to be satisfied I’ve managed that well.’

‘You’re leaving? Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Rogers.’ Despite her words, Seranne’s heart sang. Perhaps if she applied for the vacancy for a manageress she could implement some of her improvements. ‘Where will you go?’

‘Nowhere. My Gary isn’t well, see. Wounded bad in the war he was and I’m staying home to look after him. The children are both working now and we can manage without my wage.’ She stared into space. ‘If we’re a bit short I can always do a bit of cleaning.’

‘Will the owner keep me on, d’you think?’

‘Sure to.’

Seranne needed to talk to someone and she knew Babs would be pleased at the opportunity that had arisen for her. She and Babs had been friends since school, when Babs had lived near the tea rooms and had occasionally helped them. When Babs’s parents had bought the bakery in Cwm Derw and they had all moved away, Seranne and Babs had kept in touch and remained friends. They told each other everything. Yet
something
made her change her mind as she closed the door of the café. If news of the vacancy became general knowledge there would be several more applications. Better to keep quiet until she had spoken to the boss.

It was six o’clock when Seranne walked across to the bakery with their
order for the following morning. It would be Wednesday so they had extra teacakes and a few bread rolls. So predictable, so little to tempt customers to try something different. Babs and her brother Tony were in the kitchen behind the now closed shop. They were arguing.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Babs, I just want to hand you tomorrow’s list.’

‘Don’t worry, we aren’t going to resort to blows, even though I think Tony deserves a wallop!’ Babs said.

‘She wants to take a job she’s been offered and I think her loyalty should be to the family.’ Tony said. He was holding the peel, the
long-handled
, spade-like wooden tool used for taking loaves from the ovens. He waved it wildly and added, ‘Selfish, she is. Someone ought to remind her about what she could lose.’

‘Her head if you don’t put that thing down!’ Seranne warned. ‘What sort of job, a rival bakery?’

‘No,’ Tony sneered, ‘it’s a pathetic job in—’

‘Shut up, Tony!’ Babs warned. ‘The job isn’t even mine yet and might not be. So keep quiet, will you?’

Lowering his voice, Tony said, ‘You’re too lazy to work for anyone else, you leave it all to me.’

‘You won’t miss me then, will you?’

Leaving them arguing in a more subdued way, Seranne left them. Brother and sister, working close all their lives, they were in constant disagreement. Not like Mum and me, she thought sadly.

She made her way to the bus stop, along pavements covered with the fresh fall of snow, with mixed feelings. There was the possibility that she would lose her job when Mrs Rogers left, but there was also the chance of reviving the sad café and creating a more attractive place for customers to meet.

Excitement grew as her thoughts buzzed with ideas, of meals she could prepare that were just as cheap to provide but which looked more
appetizing
, of the cakes she would make instead of buying from Tony and Babs’s bakery. Anxiety about being told she was no longer needed were pushed aside. Of course she would get the job, and she’d make the sad café into a success. She stood at the bus stop unaware of the cold. She was warmed by dreams of running the café the way it should be run and her eyes glowed with excitement.

As the bus loomed into view through the darkness and she jumped aboard, Betty’s brother Ed walked around from behind the post office and headed for the Ship for the second time that day. He was walking fast, bending over in his haste and occasionally breaking into a run. He
slithered on the pavement where someone had partially removed the snow allowing the early evening frost to harden it.

‘Betty,’ he shouted as soon as he was in sight of the pub door. It was shut and he went to the side door, calling as he pushed his way in. Alun was in the passage behind the bar but Ed ran past him, calling for his sister. ‘Betty. You have to come. Elsie has to go to hospital. The
ambulance
is on its way and I’m going with her. Can you help with the
late-night
drinks and the bed changes tomorrow morning? The girl we’ve got is hopeless without someone keeping an eye on her.’

‘Can I help?’ Alun asked.

Ignoring him in his anxiety, Ed ran towards Betty who came through the door carrying a mop and bucket. ‘Betty, I have to dash back, I’ve left Elsie with the girl. The bedding isn’t sorted, the ambulance is coming and I have to go with her. Can you come?’

Taking off her coarse apron, Betty reached for her coat. ‘Go on, you, I’ll follow as fast as I can.’ She gave a few instructions to Alun, who promised to open up, then calling after Ed, she hurried out.

When Alun arrived at the guest house soon after 10.30 that night, Betty was sitting in the private room, writing out the laundry list to put with the folded bedding.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. When she nodded, he tied the sheets and towels in a bundle and fastened the completed list to it, ready for
collection
.

‘The visitors are in and settled and no more are due until tomorrow evening,’ she said. ‘But I ought to stay.’

‘No point waiting for Ed and the visitors can manage until morning. Write a note and come home.’

So, leaving a note promising to return in time to cook breakfast, they went to the door but they were stopped by the telephone. It was Ed, who assured them that Elsie was in no immediate danger and would probably be home in a day or so. ‘But she’ll need extra care,’ he went on. ‘I hate doing this but I’ll have to have an extra daily visit from the nurse. Besides upsetting Elsie with another reminder of her failing health it’s going to be expensive.’

‘Let me know if I can help,’ Betty said. ‘I’ve got a few pound put aside for emergencies.’ Replacing the phone, she said to Alun, ‘I think Elsie has enough money to cope, but I had to offer. He’s my brother. And families are important.’

‘Of course. But – I know it isn’t my business, Betty – but don’t make yourself short. Life can be very unpredictable. No one knows what their
own needs will be in the future.’

‘Oh, I can’t see me doing anything but run this place, can you?’