Chapter 18
Even though the art class had started out that day with the best of intentions to share some of Enid’s story with Elisavet at the factory workers’ memorial, they had done a lot more talking than drawing.
Now it was starting to rain, making wet dints on Cora’s sketchpad. Cora looked up at the sky suspiciously, and it was smudged by dirty clouds.
Megan looked up, too. ‘See that, Gladdie, it’s like a charcoal effect. I’m surprised you haven’t pointed it out.’
Gladdie glared at her as if she was about to argue, and then she stared at the sky and called her bluff. ‘You’re right. Maybe we should get it down on paper while we can, I’ve got some pencils in my bag somewhere.’
‘Or we could have a coffee until the rain passes,’ Cora said. ‘We could tell Elisavet more about Enid’s love story.’
‘This is a love story?’ Elisavet asked Cora as they hurried to the Bridgend Cafe. ‘About this woman who was taught how to be a good wife?’
‘Yes, that’s the whole point of us telling you. Thinking of your fiancé, we were, because love takes all sorts of unexpected twists and turns during war. You’ll find that out for yourself, I expect. Is that a queue?’
At the cafe there was a bit of a last-minute rush to get inside because everyone had the same idea of having a coffee to get out of the rain. Gladdie elbowed her way in. Her asymmetric pink hair was a good distraction – people tended to stop what they were doing to have another look at her.
‘Bit lopsided, isn’t it?’ the waitress said.
The four of them slid damply into a booth by the window, making the vinyl seats squeak.
‘Did you all do wife lessons too?’ Elisavet asked.
‘Do you mean you can’t tell?’ Megan laughed. ‘Ha ha! No, as a matter of fact we didn’t do wife lessons. We worked in the factory instead.’
They ordered their coffees, and Gladdie said she fancied a scone, as it was still raining, so they all had scones, which came with cream and little jars of strawberry jam.
With so many damp people in a small space, the windows began to steam up.
‘It smells like sheep,’ Megan observed, ‘with all these wet woollies.’
The door opened again, letting in a fresh breeze of rain-washed air, and the sound of happy laughter made them all look up at once. It was the kind of contagious laughter that made them smile, too, because it was nice to be part of it.
Cora’s first impression was of youth, white teeth and wet blond hair. The young couple, looking business-like in navy suits, looked around for a table, and to Cora’s surprise she saw that the wet girl was Fiona.
‘Hullo?’ Cora said, putting a question mark in her voice where it wasn’t strictly necessary.
‘Hi, Cora,’ Fiona said with a smile. She nodded a greeting at Gladdie and Megan.
Megan had a mouthful of scone, as she waved at her full mouth to indicate.
‘Hi, Elisavet,’ Fiona said, giving her a wave.
‘Good afternoon, Fiona,’ Elisavet replied, her eyes brightening.
The wet blond man had spotted someone paying at the counter and he immediately pounced on the vacant table with the air of a triumphant hunter. ‘Fiona!’ he called to her, pointing at it in an exaggerated manner.
‘Oh, well done,’ she called back, going over to join him in a scraping of chairs.
Cora had never seen a man look more pleased with himself. She turned back to the table and looked at her half-eaten scone on her plate. She’d lost her appetite for it momentarily.
‘Well!’ Gladdie said, propping her elbows on the table. ‘Fiona’s back to her old self! Fancy!’
There was only five years’ difference in age between Fiona and Gwyn, and Fiona’s life had been blessedly straightforward.
Her parents were still married, her grandparents lived only a short drive away, and she gave the impression of a person who’d always been loved.
Perfect for Gwyn, Cora had thought at the time.
She tilted sideways to look at the man that Fiona was sitting with. He too, she thought resentfully, looked completely untouched by life, as if any worries he’d ever had had just slid right off him. ‘I hope his suit’s not wool,’ she said.
‘Are you going to warn Gwyn?’ Gladdie asked her.
It had been Cora’s first thought.
‘Warn him?’ she said, as if it had never occurred to her. ‘I’ll say we bumped into her in the coffee shop, if I remember.’ She started eating the scone again because it was very unnatural of her not to finish it, and Gladdie would be bound to attach some meaning to it.
‘And there you have it in a nutshell,’ Megan said to Elisavet. ‘Love, full of twists and turns, just as Cora said.’