Swansea Summer Read online

  CATRIN COLLIER

  Swansea Summer

  First published in Great Britain in 2002 By Orion

  First published in paperback in Great Britain in 2002 by Orion

  This edition published by Accent Press 2013

  ISBN 9781909840652

  Copyright © Catrin Collier 2002

  The right of Catrin Collier to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For Margaret, Ken, Sarah and James Williams – greatly missed exiles from Swansea who gave so much to the city while bringing fun, happiness and humour into so many lives.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to express my gratitude to all those who helped with the writing and research of Swansea Summer. Jill Forwood for her friendship, impeccably researched articles on Swansea’s past for the South Wales Evening Post, and her unstinting help whenever I asked for it.

  Dr Marguerite Aitcheson for her assistance in researching private adoption in the 1950s and the horrendous effects back-street abortions had on women and young girls half a century ago.

  The ‘old guard’ of Swansea Writers’ Circle who took the time and trouble to guide a novice writer at the outset of her career, especially Irene ‘Topsy’ Evans, Peggy Carter and Geoff Hemmings.

  My husband John, our children Ralph, Ross, Sophie and Nick and my parents, Glyn and Gerda Jones for their love and the time they gave me to write this book.

  Margaret Bloomfield for her friendship and help in so many ways.

  My agent Ken Griffiths and his wife Marguerite for their friendship, and for making my life so much more interesting than I ever thought it could be.

  No writer can exist without readers. I am truly privileged to have so many sympathetic and understanding people among mine. Thank you.

  Catrin Collier, September 2001

  Chapter One

  Martin stood in the doorway of the bedroom he shared with his brother. Oblivious to his presence, Jack whistled a few bars of ‘With This Ring’ as he lifted a shirt from his side of the old-fashioned wardrobe. Folding it carefully so as not to crease the collar, he laid it on top of a pile of clothes inside a battered suitcase opened out on the double bed.

  ‘You sound happy.’

  Jack glanced up. ‘That’s because I am happy.’

  ‘You finished packing?’ Martin walked in and sat on the only chair in the room.

  ‘Just about, except for what I’m wearing now and tomorrow.’ Jack slammed the case shut. ‘I thought you were plotting stag night bridegroom tortures in the kitchen with the others.’

  ‘Adam’s record is stuck in a groove. I couldn’t listen to any more of his moans about the good drinking time you’re wasting.’

  ‘It’s my stag night,’ Jack said pointedly.

  ‘Adam considers all booze-ups to be his nights.’ Martin looked around. ‘It’s going to be odd having no one but myself to blame for the mess in here.’

  ‘Seeing as I’ll only be next door, I could come in and throw things around every once in a while.’ Jack snapped the catches on the suitcase locks.

  ‘Remind me to ask you for your key.’ Martin picked up a smaller new case from beside the bed. ‘I’ll give you a hand to carry these next door.’

  ‘This is the only one that’s going.’ Jack lifted the large suitcase from the bed. ‘That’ – he beamed as he took the small case from Martin and set it down in the corner – ‘is for the honeymoon.’

  ‘I feel I should say something.’ Martin paused awkwardly. ‘Give you some advice but …’

  ‘The time for that was a few months ago and I wouldn’t have listened.’ Jack grinned.

  ‘If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t.’ As the older brother, Martin had always felt responsible for Jack – and guilty that he hadn’t managed to prevent him from making quite so many disastrous mistakes. ‘It’s just that … blast it, Jack, eighteen’s no age to be getting married.’

  ‘You thinking of me or Helen?’

  ‘Neither of you have been anywhere, done anything …’

  ‘Most people in this street think we’ve done too much.’

  Refusing to see any humour in the situation, Martin frowned.

  ‘It’s all right, Marty, it really is.’ Jack’s smile broadened as he slapped him across the shoulders. ‘You don’t have to play the big brother any more. Little brother’s grown up and couldn’t give a damn what the neighbours say about him.’

  ‘To hell with the neighbours – most of them,’ Martin qualified. ‘Doesn’t it scare you? A wife and in a few months a baby. Your life mapped out for you. Marriage isn’t just sleeping with a girl …’

  ‘That you know about.’ Jack raised his eyebrows.

  ‘That’s just the problem.’ Martin fell serious. ‘What do either of us know about family life, growing up the way we did? Dad drunk most of the time, using Mam, Katie and us as punchbags every time he came home from the pub …’

  ‘It’s over, Marty.’ Jack wished his brother could forget their past, or at least stop talking about it. ‘Let Mam rest in peace. If there’s any justice in the afterlife she’s in a very different place from Dad. As for him, I hope the torments of hell are as bad as the chapel minister used to paint them before we began to mitch off Sunday school.’

  Martin clenched his fists so Jack wouldn’t see his hands trembling, just as they had done whenever their father had turned his attention to them when they were small. ‘You can’t forgive him either.’

  ‘No. But one good thing’s come out of having a bastard for a father. After seeing what he did to Mam, and having to live with what he did to us, I’ll top myself before I’ll raise my hand to Helen or the baby – when it comes. This wedding can’t come quick enough for me, Marty. I really am looking forward to being married.’

  ‘Given Helen’s looks, I can understand that,’ Martin conceded. ‘Although she does have a wild streak and one hell of a temper to go with her blonde hair and blue eyes.’

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ Jack’s mouth curved at a memory he hadn’t shared.

  ‘And look where your handling’s got you.’

  ‘As you said, there’s more to marriage than bed – although that’s great. If you haven’t already, I recommend you and Lily try it some time.’ He sat on the bed. ‘Look, I know a couple of months ago I
would have laughed at the idea of getting married and having a kid but now it feels as though all I’ve ever wanted is a family of my own. With Helen’s help I’ll be able to give our son everything we never had. Trips to the beach, the park, and the toyshops in town and on Sunday afternoons I’ll teach him to swim, play football …’

  ‘Fight, mitch off school, drink, smoke …’ Martin interceded.

  ‘I’ll grant you I messed up,’ Jack admitted. ‘But I won’t let him make the mistakes I did.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s a boy?’ Martin smiled for the first time since he’d entered the room.

  ‘Absolutely and Helen agrees with me.’

  ‘And if it’s a girl?’

  ‘We’ll know the hospital switched him at birth.’ Jack picked up his case. ‘I’ll take this round to the flat, then I’ll be with you.’

  ‘If you’re any longer than five minutes Adam will haul you out,’ Martin warned.

  ‘Let him try. I’ve no intention of crawling through tomorrow with a hangover after a skinful tonight.’ Jack winked broadly. ‘I’ve made plans with Helen that require me to be one hundred and ten per cent on form.’

  Despite his misgivings, Martin couldn’t help laughing as Jack changed his tune from ‘With This Ring’ to ‘The Magic Touch’.

  Martin opened the wardrobe and spread his clothes out along the rail after Jack left. Neither of them had much in the way of possessions but with only his hairbrushes on the chest of drawers and mechanics’ manuals on the shelf in the alcove next to the boarded-up fireplace, the room looked bare and empty.

  ‘Jack all right?’ Their old flatmate Brian Powell, who’d returned from London for the wedding, looked in on him.

  ‘You know Jack.’

  ‘He and Helen will be fine,’ Brian insisted confidently.

  ‘He seems to think so.’

  ‘Big brother not convinced?’ Brian took a packet of Players from his shirt pocket and offered Martin one.

  ‘Someone has to worry about him.’ Taking the cigarette, Martin pushed it between his lips and felt in his pockets for his matches.

  ‘It’s amazing the changes a month has made. The Jack I knew spent his evenings and weekends servicing his motorbike and testing brew strengths in pubs, not picking out colour schemes and decorating. And I overheard Lily telling Judy that all Helen can talk about is bed linen, saucepans and recipes.’ Brian pulled his lighter from his shirt pocket and lit Martin’s cigarette, then his own.

  Martin closed the door of the wardrobe. ‘I just can’t believe that as of tomorrow my kid brother is going to be a married man.’

  ‘With a cracking wife.’

  ‘They’re so young.’

  ‘Lose the gloom, Marty. You sound more like forty than twenty-one.’

  ‘They both have a temper.’

  ‘So they’ll throw a few pots and pans at one another.’ Brian shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘One or both of them could end up in hospital.’

  ‘Before that honeymoon glow wears off, they’ll have a baby to take care of and from what I’ve seen of nippers they’ll be too exhausted to do anything except survive until the next sleepless night.’ Taking the ashtray Martin handed him, Brian sat on the bed. ‘And then it will be, “Uncle Martin, please take over, just for one night so we can get some sleep.”’

  ‘Me? I know nothing about babies.’

  Amused by the panic-stricken expression on Martin’s face, Brian adopted a look of mock gravity. ‘Then it’s high time you learned. Let’s see, there’s folding and changing nappies but that’s best left until after it’s born. Boys’ are folded different from girls’; get it wrong and you could warp the poor mite for life.’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking.’

  ‘I assure you I’m not.’ Leaning back, Brian blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. ‘There’s making up bottles, that can be really complicated, you have to check the mix and temperature of the milk is just right and that the nipper is fed at the right pace. Too fast and it will throw up – and always over your best suit, shirt and tie. Too slow and it will starve and yell its head off, but before that you ought to know how to hold a baby so it doesn’t fall apart. The best winding techniques …’

  ‘What’s winding?’ Martin looked sideways at Brian.

  ‘As you’ll find out, everything’s connected to one end or the other.’

  ‘And how come you know so much about babies?’ Martin questioned suspiciously.

  ‘I have twelve nieces and nephews.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’ Despite having lived with Brian for several months, Martin had never quite been able to tell the difference between some of his more peculiar jokes and his attempts to impart serious advice.

  ‘I wish. Would you like me to begin with the significance of nappy contents?’

  ‘This is the living room. Like the bedroom and kitchen, we’ve had to make do with Dad’s old furniture, but I’ve tried to give it a contemporary look.’ Helen opened the door at the end of the passage in the basement of her father’s house, switched on the light and stood back, watching Judy’s face as she entered the room.

  ‘It’s gorgeous, Helen, and so big. The new window is huge. It must be light and airy in daytime.’

  ‘It is. The builders lengthened this room when they extended the bedroom to make room for the bathroom. Dad said it didn’t cost that much more to square off the back of the house but it’s made a lot of difference in here.’

  ‘Wherever did you get this material?’ Judy fingered the black, white and red check heavy-duty linen decorated with yellow bows that covered the three-piece suite.

  ‘The warehouse. Dad sold us a bale at cost and Lily helped me sew it up. She made the curtains too.’ Helen smiled at Lily as she joined them.

  ‘Clever Lily.’

  ‘I had a good teacher in Auntie Norah.’ Lily looked critically at the pleats she’d set on top of the curtains and wondered what her foster mother would have made of her efforts.

  ‘You must miss her,’ Judy sympathised. They fell silent, remembering the widow who’d brought Lily up and had been the friend and confidante of practically every woman in Carlton Terrace.

  ‘Jack decorated this room too.’ Helen ran her fingers over the red wallpaper that covered the boxing in on the fireplace that now housed a small gas fire. ‘With Marty and their new flatmate Sam’s help. Lily’s Uncle Roy kept an eye on them but they did well. Even Dad was surprised by the job they made of it. The building work cost a small fortune. Jack and I felt guilty enough without sticking Dad with the bill for painting and papering the place as well, but he’ll get his money back in rent. Not that Jack and I intend to stay here for ever. As soon as we’ve saved enough for a deposit we’re going to look for our own place.’ Helen wiped a speck of dust from the Formica coffee table with her finger. Its striking black and white geometric design matched the shade on the standard lamp behind the sofa.

  ‘More wedding presents?’ Judy asked.

  ‘From Martin and me,’ Katie volunteered.

  ‘We’ve had some lovely things.’ Helen opened an old-fashioned china cabinet. ‘Joe bought us this black and white contemporary dinner and tea set; we’re keeping it for best and using a cheap one from the warehouse for every day. Lily’s Uncle Roy gave us a stainless steel cutlery set; Lily found some marvellous stainless steel kitchen utensils. You have to see them to appreciate their shape. They’re really unusual and …’ She saw Judy exchange an amused look with Lily. ‘Sorry, I know I go on a bit but I can’t wait to move in and start using everything.’

  ‘You’ll have to teach Jack how to use some things.’ Katie switched the lamp on and the main light off so they could admire the effect. ‘I don’t think he’d recognise a duster or a dishcloth, let alone that carpet sweeper your aunt gave you.’

  ‘This room is really smart.’ Judy sat in one of the armchairs. ‘Comfy too,’ she added as she settled back against the cushions.

  ‘We think so.’ Helen sat on the sofa opp
osite her.

  ‘I can’t believe one of us is actually getting married. It seems so …’

  ‘Grown up,’ Lily finished for Judy. She looked at the others and they all laughed.

  A thud echoed in from the garden. Helen peered through the window into the darkness and saw a suitcase in the middle of her father’s onion bed. A few seconds later Jack landed beside it.

  ‘Idiot! My father’s always going on about the mess Jack’s made of his vegetable plot by vaulting the wall instead of walking round. He’ll kill him if he sees him.’ Running into the passage, she opened the back door.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jack apologised sheepishly, as he retrieved his suitcase.

  ‘You’ll be sorrier still if my father sees you.’

  ‘He has.’ Jack waved cautiously to Helen’s father who opened his kitchen window on the floor above.

  ‘Thank God you two are getting married tomorrow,’ John Griffiths shouted down. ‘I don’t think my garden will stand another day of your courtship.’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Griffiths, I didn’t think.’ Drawing Helen towards the back door, Jack pulled her out of sight of the living room window and the ones on the floor above. ‘Got a kiss for the bridegroom?’ Without waiting for Helen to reply, he bent his head, kissing her slowly and thoroughly before caressing her breasts with his fingertips, evoking sensations they both knew from past experience could easily spiral out of control.

  Reluctantly she pushed him away. ‘Someone could come to the door.’

  ‘You won’t be able to say that tomorrow,’ he whispered.

  ‘I won’t want to – tomorrow. Just think, twenty-four hours from now we’ll be Mr and Mrs Clay and almost in London. In the middle of the theatres, shops …’

  ‘Not too many expensive trips,’ he warned. ‘We need to save for the baby and our own house, remember.’

  ‘Looking costs nothing,’ she continued, undeterred. ‘And there’s the sights, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Harrods …’

  ‘All the sights I want to see will be in a hotel bedroom furnished with a large and hopefully comfortable double bed.’ He nuzzled her neck.