Corner of a Small Town

By Grace Thompson

Even the most idyllic towns hold dark secrets...

Pendragon Island is the perfect place for holidays, with a stretch of clean golden sand and a glorious funfair nearby.

Yet for one local family, the happy holiday atmosphere risks becoming a cruel joke, as the unusually-named Lewis Lewis’s affair with close friend Nia Martin threatens to tear his marriage apart.

The irritation of Lewis’s wife Dora is channeled towards their daughter, Rhiannon, who works at Nia’s sweet shop, Temptations. With his family at war and the gossip beginning to spread, it can only be a matter of time before Lewis’s misadventures catch up with him…

A deeply-moving Welsh saga, perfect for fans of Freda Lightfoot and Kitty Neale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Canelo Digital Publishing Ltd
• Release date: May 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781910859537

Grace Thompson

Grace Thompson is a much-loved Welsh author of saga and romance novels, and a mainstay of libraries throughout the United Kingdom and beyond. Born and raised in South Wales, she is the author of numerous series, including the Valley series, the Pendragon Island series, and the Badger’s Brook series. She published her 42nd novel shortly after celebrating her 80th birthday, and continues to live in Swansea.

Book preview

Copyright

Corner of a Small Town

Grace Thompson

Canelo

Chapter One

Rhiannon Lewis walked out of the house in a happy mood. A short jacket over a cotton dress, a scarf to cover her long dark hair, her hands empty of shopping bags. To be so unencumbered was a special sort of freedom. Normally her outings consisted of shopping for the family’s meals and with rationing still in force six years after war had ended, that meant long hours searching and queuing for extras.

She was only five feet four but held herself upright and gave the impression of greater height. Her neck was long and slender and her mahogany hair fell about her shoulders in a curling mass that made heads turn in admiration, although she appeared not to be aware of her attractiveness. Today excitement added to the brightness of her brown eyes.

It was her eighteenth birthday and she had planned carefully so her work was finished and she was free to walk across the docks to the beach without a thought of housework or food.

It was October and the unexpectedly warm day had tempted her from the moment she had woken at six thirty. Getting breakfast for Mam, Dad and her brothers Viv and Lewis-boy and her sister-in-law Eleri was a pleasant chore on such a day. Since Mam had asked her to stay at home and run the house instead of getting a job when she left school, Rhiannon had been content. On days like this when she could escape for a few hours to walk along the edge of the tide, life was bliss.

On leaving school, Rhiannon had been given a choice of a career in the firm where her father worked, building up the sales of the new frozen foods, or finding work in a shop or office. Neither particularly appealed, and it was her mother, Dora, who suggested that as she could undoubtedly earn more than Rhiannon, it would be an idea if Rhiannon stayed home and Dora returned to the job she had enjoyed during the war, collecting weekly insurance money.

Part of the reason Rhiannon agreed was her mother’s health. The doctor had recommended that Dora found herself a job to relieve her of the remaining symptoms of the nervous breakdown she had suffered, which the family euphemistically called, her ‘nerves’.

Rhiannon’s favourite brother, Viv, the youngest, was nineteen and worked at Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint, as a clerk. Her older brother, Lewis-boy, had chosen to work with his father, selling frozen foods and the freezers to store them. He was married but still living at home with his wife Eleri.

Lewis-boy was suspected of having affairs with several local women, and some further afield. Rumours abounded about the way he spent his day, and he was becoming a bit of a legend, making old men smile and young men glare in envy. He had the perfect opportunity to meet other women as he travelled around the area trying to persuade shopkeepers to invest in one of the new chest freezers and begin to sell frozen foodstuffs.

Rhiannon and Viv followed their mother, Dora, in looks and colouring, Viv’s wavy hair being almost as bright as his mother’s, while Lewis-boy took after their father; taller and with straight hair that was so dark it looked black. They all had brown eyes.

Lewis-boy – their father’s namesake – had always tried to copy Lewis, and it had been no surprise when he had applied for a job in the same firm. Like his father he was elegantly tall and slim, wearing his dark hair slicked back and slightly longer than most young men. His father’s eyes were fascinatingly half closed and Lewis-boy had adopted this as an affectation. His features were aquiline and over a sensual mouth he had cultivated a thin moustache exactly like Lewis’s.

Yet, although he was a replica of Lewis in appearance and dress, down to the colour of his socks, he was nowhere near as successful either at selling, or with women. He was deeply resentful when no one reacted when he walked into a room, yet heads turned, girlish eyes lit up, whenever his father appeared. Being called Lewis-boy had been amusing when he was small, but had become a nuisance as he had grown to manhood.

His wife, softly spoken Eleri, seemed oblivious to the stories of his philandering, or, Rhiannon sometimes thought, indifferent. The couple fought a lot, but not, apparently, because of his wandering eye but because Eleri wanted Lewis-boy to find them a place of their own. However, Lewis-boy was too comfortable at home and he was expert at giving excuses.

Rhiannon thought of Lewis-boy as she set off on her afternoon of freedom. She would miss Eleri if she and Lewis-boy moved out of the family home, but could understand her sister-in-law’s need to build a home of her own. She wanted that herself one day.

As she passed Temptations, the sweet and cards shop on the corner, three doors away from home, she paused and looked in, expecting to see the proprietor, Nia Martin inside. A soldier stood in the doorway and, excusing herself, she slid past him.

Hello, Mrs Martin, got any off-ration sweets?

Nia Martin smiled at the soldier, sharing amusement. Taking a small triangular paper bag she placed a few nougat-type sweets inside. Home-made and strictly illegal. And only for special customers. She added a couple of Rhiannon’s favourite Blue Bird’s liquorice toffee rolls and handed the bag to Rhiannon with a smile.

It wasn’t until Rhiannon turned to leave that she looked at the soldier’s face and recognised Nia Martin’s son Barry. Oh, hello Barry, I didn’t recognise you, she said, blushing furiously. Thanks Mrs Martin, she added, waving the paper bag. Off to the beach I am, while the sun’s shining.

Barry Martin had lived on the corner a few doors away from Rhiannon all her life but she rarely spoke to him. Four years older, he was considered to be of a different generation. But now she was eighteen, the four years seemed fewer; he was no longer a much older man. Barry Martin, in his army uniform was appealing enough to make her feel shy. She chuckled at the thought as she crossed the road. As if she had a chance with someone like Barry Martin.

She skipped hurriedly past the grocery shop on the opposite corner where she sometimes worked a few hours for Gertie Thomas. She didn’t want Gertie to see her now and ask her to help this afternoon. This was her time off. She had prepared for it and she was determined to enjoy it.

She was aware of someone following her as she walked down the sloping road to the docks and turned to see Barry half running, obviously trying to catch up. Her heart began to beat in her throat as she waited for him. Had she forgotten her change? Dropped something in the shop? She hoped not. Barry Martin was handsome enough to make her feel silly.

Hang on, Rhiannon, I might as well come with you, unless you want to be on your own?

Of course you can, she said in surprise. I thought I’d go to the sandy beach and walk along the tide’s edge. I like the smell of sand and sea, don’t you?

I’m just back from North Africa so sand doesn’t have the same novelty for me, he laughed.

What about the park instead?

The beach will be fine.

Striding beside him, she began to wonder if he would soon become bored and regret his impulse to come along. She didn’t know what to say to him. Whatever she said would sound dull. But her worries were groundless, he talked for both of them.

I’ll have finished with the army in two more weeks, he explained, then I have to decide whether to return to carpentry or try something different.

You’ll be in demand if you’re a carpenter, Rhiannon said. There’s a dreadful shortage of builders isn’t there? And so many wanting houses. These prefabs are lovely, mind, but they’re only intended to last ten years, aren’t they?

When I had to leave my job and do my two years’ army service, I decided instead to sign for five years. It’s given me time to think about what I really want to do.

And that isn’t carpentry?

I want to build a business of my own, as a photographer.

Would you make a living out of taking photographs? she asked doubtfully. Pendragon Island is only a small town.

Not at first, but Mam has offered to help support me for a while so I can give it a try.

As a qualified carpenter you could always fill in time making frames! she teased.

I intend to, he replied and she regretted the attempt at a joke.

They walked past huge ships that came into the port with cargoes of fresh fruit, dried and tinned stuff, bone meal, fertilizers, iron ore and much more. A group of dockers was unloading pit wood for the coal mines further inland, filling the air with the sweet scent of cherry wood. They stood for a while looking across to where ships were being loaded with Welsh coal. From the huge hoppers coal was sent down through chutes into the hold, watched by a man sitting on the coaming. Far below in the dusty dark, coal trimmers worked with huge shovels to level the cargo, heaving the coal away from the centre and into the wings, making sure it was evenly distributed. Hard, dirty, essential work.

Rhiannon always found the busy dockside a fascinating place to wander. She was so intrigued with the variety of sounds and assorted voices as crews of many nationalities called their instructions, she forgot to be shy.

She laughed with Barry at the sight of a fisherman just unloading his catch, angrily chasing off audacious seagulls, and a ship’s cat, dwarfed by the vessel it called home, balancing warily along a rope to reach a docker offering a share of his food.

They shared the bag of sweets sold to Rhiannon by Barry’s mother and when they reached the street leading up out of the docks Barry stopped and tried to buy her a replacement, but there was nothing available without sweet coupons, of which he had none.

They finally reached the beach, and, defying the approaching chill of autumn, Rhiannon removed her shoes and paddled in the foaming surf. She gasped with the cold of it and dared Barry to join her.

Another time, he promised, when I’m not wearing the King’s uniform.

The mood was different as they began to head for home. The warm, sunny day had ended suddenly with the sun vanishing behind clouds and a chill creeping like an unseen mist along the sea front, making Rhiannon wish she had brought a thicker coat. Seeing her shiver, Barry suggested they caught a bus.

It was disappointing to finish the surprising afternoon out in such a mundane way. Rhiannon had visions of them strolling back across the docks as the sun set in brilliant splendour, and instead here they were shivering and pleading silently for the bus to come quickly, and, for it to be thoroughly warmed and not be too full to take them aboard!

They alighted at the main square and walked down the road towards the corner shop together. Why are you coming this way? Aren’t you going home? Rhiannon asked. Don’t forget you no longer live above the sweet shop. Posh you are, Barry Martin, living up on Chestnut Road with the nobs.

I said I’d stand in for Mam, she wants to go home for an hour or two to get some cooking done.

Oh. Rhiannon was disappointed. She had hoped he was walking her home.

When they reached Temptations, Nia was serving a small queue of people and Barry caught hold of her arm lightly and said, We’ll have to do this again.

Yes, I’d love to, one day, if I ever get another afternoon free. She glanced at him, wishing she had answered that differently. Hadn’t it sounded like a polite no?

Say hello to Lewis-boy and Viv. Tell them I’ll see them in The Railwayman’s one evening.

I will. They both hesitated for a brief moment, as if wanting to say more but Mrs Martin called and Rhiannon ran home and lit the gas oven ready for the shepherd’s pie with hands that shook.

Her mother was already in, but was ensconced in the back room with her insurance ledgers and weekly collections book, totalling her day’s takings. Money stood in piles on the table, silver in pounds, copper in shillings. Dora’s mouth worked as she totalled the columns and Rhiannon dared not speak and ruin her concentration. Rhiannon knew from experience that would be enough cause for Dora to lose her temper, and the evening would then be filled with acrimony.

The bicycle her mother used for her collections was in the passage beyond the kitchen and Rhiannon squeezed past it to bring in the heavy coal scuttle. It was her brother Lewis-boy’s job, but he was always forgetting.

Lewis-boy was the next to arrive, with Eleri. Eleri worked in the local picture house as an usherette and was due to start work at six o’clock. Her hours varied but she mostly worked evenings. Leaving Lewis-boy free in the evenings was not a good idea, Rhiannon thought, not if half the rumours she heard about him were true.

Eleri came straight into the kitchen and began attending to the chopped swede and carrots which were coming to the boil. She took plates off the rack and put them to warm on the fender. Sorry I wasn’t here to see to this, she apologised, but Lewis-boy came home early and we went shopping for a new rug for our room. They had some at the Co-op and if we’d waited until tomorrow they might have been sold.

Viv then came home from his job at Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint store and went straight up to change. He was whistling cheerfully, throwing off the cares of the day with his beige overalls. As the family sat down to eat, Rhiannon’s father arrived. It was Friday and on Fridays he was usually late. And always in a bad mood.

Can’t you put your bike somewhere different, Dora? he grumbled as he came through the kitchen hopping and rubbing a shin. Always fall over the damned thing. Either put it outside or put the porch light on!

Hello to you too! Dora snapped. You could at least greet everyone before you start complaining.

Rhiannon shared a glance with Viv; a look that said, ‘they’re off again’. To stop the argument before it led to one or other storming off, she began to tell them about her afternoon walk.

She couldn’t face being teased, even to stop Mam and Dad arguing, so she didn’t mention having Barry Martin for company. Time to mention it if he asked her out again.

After dinner, Viv and Rhiannon played cards until about nine, then Viv stood up and called for their brother.

Lewis-boy, you coming for a pint, then?

Might as well, I’ll have time for one before I meet Eleri from work.

Lewis-boy had been fidgety all evening, half listening to the wireless, while trying to read the paper. He looked fed up and Rhiannon said, Why doesn’t Eleri get a different job? It isn’t right you working while she’s home and her out working every evening when you’re here fiddling your thumbs.

No, she likes it, Lewis-boy said quickly. I don’t mind, it gives me a chance to meet my friends without her complaining of being neglected. He grinned then. Don’t think I’d fancy being stuck in every evening and seeing Viv going out enjoying himself.

Rhiannon thought, not for the first time, that Lewis-boy shouldn’t have married. Certainly not the gentle and quiet Eleri who wanted nothing more than a home of her own, and Lewis-boy’s company.

---

Walking through the dark streets beside Viv, Lewis-boy was edgy. The date he had planned for this evening had been hurriedly cancelled. Molly Bondo had twice phoned him at the office and that was two steps on the road leading to trouble. Once a mild flirtation started getting serious or there was a danger of the affair overlapping and touching on his life with Eleri he quickly ended it. Fun was one thing, embarrassment and losing his job another.

The firm he worked for placed a lot of importance on good family background. That was one of the reasons he had asked Eleri to marry him in the first place, he admitted to himself. He had wanted the job and he had explained about his approaching marriage to strengthen his application. He had thought that working for the same firm as his father, the job would be easy and a few hours work would be enough to keep his bosses happy. After all, dad didn’t seem overworked. That he had been wrong, he blamed on his father, convinced he had deliberately misled him.

Only half listening to Viv’s chatter, he mentally went through the list of girls he had taken out at some time and wondered if any friendships could be revived. Valerie Soloman had been a possibility for a time. He’d given her a few presents, bought her meals, then she had told him she didn’t go out with married men. What a waste of time she’d been. But if he told her he was unhappy and missed her… He glanced at his reflection in the dark window of a shop and straightened his shoulders and practised his slit-eyed look.

What’s up? Viv asked. Sales not good enough?

When are they ever! With our Dad checking on me every day how could they be good enough? I could never please him if I worked all day and all night! It’s easy for him. He only has to walk into a shop, smile and the proprietor starts to take up a pen to sign his order book!

You and he are so alike you must be able to match him. You match him in everything else, Viv said wryly, thinking of Molly Bondo. You deliberately look like him, with your sleek hair and that film star moustache. You dress like him, walk like him and behave like him. Copy him every inch you do. I’ve seen the way you look straight into a woman’s eyes and lower your voice to a purr.

Why don’t you try it then? Lewis-boy grinned. Time you were married and out of the house.

You didn’t move out when you married! Viv exclaimed. Pinched my bedroom and left me the box room with the suitcases, books no one wants and last year’s onion crop!

The arguments were good-natured but Lewis-boy knew that Viv really did resent the fact that Eleri and he lived at home. He would have to make up his mind to find them somewhere soon, but home was so comfortable and Rhiannon and Eleri got on like sisters. Perhaps next year. I might put our name down for one of those prefabs next year, he said.

Oh yeah? I can’t see you forking out rent when Mam and Dad let you live off them!

All right! All right. I’ll do something about it tomorrow. Right? Lewis-boy followed his father in irritability too, Viv thought.

Barry Martin was in The Railwayman’s Arms, sitting with his older brother, Joseph. Sharing their table was Jack Weston, of Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint, and Basil Griffiths.

Budge up and make room for the workers, Lewis-boy shouted across the room, and don’t say it’s my turn for the round or I’ll go home now this minute!

Wearing his usual lugubrious expression, which got him occasional work with the undertaker, Basil Griffiths stood up and ordered two pints of dark. He was long-legged, and extremely skinny, the corduroys he wore hung on him and the jumper and jacket looked as if they were made to fit a giant even though his bony hands and wrists were protruding from the cuffs. Wicked unfair it is, me paying and me the only one without a job, he growled. Lewis-boy only grinned.

‘Them Damned Griffithses’ as most people called them, lived in a shabby old cottage on the edge of town Basil. Griffiths, who now handed Viv and Lewis-boy their pints, was twenty-eight and though having never found a regular job, was rarely without a few pounds in his pocket. Poaching was one way he stayed solvent, and one which made his regular appearances in court a bit of a joke. Buying and reselling practically anything, from a few wild strawberries to a wardrobe, somehow kept him afloat. Other, more shady, deals were never discussed.

The Griffithses were a wild family; none of the boys had managed to keep a job much more than a month. The record was held by Basil’s father, Hywel Griffiths, who had once worked at the soap factory for ten weeks to pay off a fine imposed for fighting. Basil’s brother Frank was still paying off his fine for the same event.

Their mother Janet had been born into a comfortably-off family of farmers but had abandoned all respectability without regret and accepted the precarious life offered by Hywel Griffiths. The irresponsible behaviour of her husband Hywel and their sons filled her with casual amusement and she and her daughter Catherine looked after them all with loving care.

Catherine was so different from the rest of the Griffiths clan it was hard to believe she was related, especially as she was plump while the others were all as skinny as dead cats, as Hywel graphically put it. Catherine was a very shy and subdued thirty-year-old. She worked in a wool shop and had all the attributes of manners and reliability her wild brothers lacked.

The only other relation was a cousin, Ernie Griffiths who, since the death of his parents, lived with the Griffithses and was a close companion to Frank. Frank and Ernie Griffiths arrived at The Railwayman’s together soon after Lewis-boy and Viv.

Extra seats were found and space commandeered and the widened circle began to share news and views in an argumentative way.

The Griffithses were considered by most parents to be a family best avoided, but in spite of