Chapter 6
On the outside, Sweet Meadow Primary School had changed little since Bill first set foot inside its walls all those years ago. A Victorian building, it was constructed out of the same hewn stone that many of the town’s houses were built out of, and Bill vividly remembered the school’s high ceilings, big windows, and ancient (mostly ineffectual) radiators.
He was surprised that it hadn’t been knocked down and replaced with something newer and easier to maintain, but he was pleased it hadn’t. It held so many childhood memories, most of them good: playing tag and kick-the-can, stodgy but filling school dinners, sitting on the parquet floor in the hall and singing the Welsh national anthem on St David’s Day whilst dressed like an absolute plonker.
There were also the not-so-good memories, of course: the toilets that had been located outside the building, so if you needed a wee you often got drenched and cold; the spelling tests he had been hopeless at; being sent to stand outside the headmistress’s door because he’d cheeked his teacher…
He hadn’t given the school a second thought for years, walking or driving past it without a glance, yet here he was at the opposite end of his life, about to go inside and wondering how the intervening years had flown by so fast.
Pushing the slightly depressing thought aside, he gave his attention to the task at hand, and eyed the locked gate leading onto the playground doubtfully. ‘Are you sure about this?’
Fiona patted his arm. ‘Don’t worry, the children don’t bite. We probably won’t get to see any of them anyway, because they’ll be in their classrooms. You’ll be perfectly safe.’
Bill scowled at her. ‘Very funny. What I meant is, will they go for it?’
‘The children or the teachers?’
‘Both.’
Fiona gave him a wry smile. ‘They’ll jump at the chance not to have to do sums or spelling, and I’m talking about the teachers as well as the pupils.’
He supposed she was right. Thinking up names for a newt would be much more fun than algebra. Did primary school children learn algebra? Or was that a secondary school subject? He couldn’t remember.
‘We should have phoned first,’ he muttered. What was it about schools and children that made him so uncomfortable? Was it because he’d never had kids of his own, so he hadn’t learned how to behave around them? His job hadn’t given rise to any contact with them either; you didn’t get any kids on a container ship, or in a busy dockyard.
A wave of sadness washed over him. His mum, bless her, would have loved to have been a granny. At one point he had thought it might have been a possibility, but that was water under the bridge now.
Fiona said, ‘I did phone, so stop grizzling.’
Bill picked Patch up and tucked him under his arm, fretting that he would be told off for bringing a dog onto the premises. For some reason, he felt that carrying the dog didn’t count. Which was daft, when he thought about it.
They were buzzed into the schoolyard, and from there into the building itself, where they were met by a receptionist sitting behind a screen.
‘Bloody hell, it’s like Fort Knox in here,’ he muttered, earning himself an elbow in the ribs and a ‘ Shh ’ from Fiona.
‘You said you’ve got a poster and some leaflets for us?’ the receptionist asked.
‘We have.’ Fiona took them out of her bag. She unrolled the poster and held it up.
The woman scanned it quickly. ‘There’s going to be a cafe in the park again? How lovely! I remember having a Coke float there when I was little.’
Fiona beamed. ‘Ah, yes… A glass of fizzy cold Cola with a scoop of vanilla ice cream dropped into it. It was a taste of heaven.’
Bill had never heard of a Coke float, and he wondered what had been missing.
‘Is this your new venture?’ the receptionist asked Fiona.
‘It’s Molly Brown’s idea,’ Fiona said. ‘I’m just along for the ride.’
‘But you will be working there, right? I miss your lemon drizzle cake.’
‘That’s sweet of you. I’m sure I can bake one or two, just for you. But before that happens, we need to raise some funds so we can get the repairs done.’
We , Bill thought, the word rolling around in his head. It felt good to know he was part of something again, and he realised just how adrift he’d been feeling since he’d retired. This mightn’t be anything like what he had been used to, but then again it was hardly going to be, was it? The South Wales Valleys weren’t famed for their cargo ships.
Fiona edged the leaflets closer. ‘Can you ask the headteacher if she will put up the poster, and can these be handed out to each child, please?’
‘ Name the Newt Competition ,’ the receptionist read as she scanned the leaflet. ‘ The Park’s very own newt saved the pond from being drained, and now he needs a name .’ She looked up. ‘Can I have a go? How about Newty McNewtface?’
‘Write your name and suggestion on the form underneath, and donate 50p, and you can most definitely have a go,’ Fiona laughed.
‘When’s the closing date?’
Fiona pointed it out to her, and added, ‘The winning name will be announced at the end of the jumble sale.’
The woman turned her attention back to the poster. ‘Oh, you’re holding a jumble sale? I love a good rummage. And you’re also having a tea dance. It sounds lovely. I’ve never been to one before. Do you have to dress up?’
‘You can if you want,’ Fiona said. She had quizzed Bill about it yesterday over lunch, then they had looked tea dances up on the internet to get some ideas.
‘My partner and I will definitely be there,’ the receptionist said. ‘Good luck with the cafe.’
Bill and Fiona thanked her, then left.
‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Fiona teased. ‘Now for the secondary school.’
Bill sighed. He had a feeling this was going to be a long morning.
***
‘Why don’t you take one side of the street and I’ll take the other?’ Fiona suggested as they stood at the top end of the high street a short while later. ‘Then we can meet back here when we’re done. I’ll do this side and the square,’ she added. The reason she wanted to do the square was because she didn’t want Pamela in Best Bites to be given a poster. Fiona couldn’t say why exactly, but it didn’t feel right to ask Pamela to advertise the very thing that might make the cafe in the park come to life.
‘Good idea. Divide and conquer,’ he agreed. ‘This way we’ll be done in half the time. I don’t know about you, but I’m gasping for a cuppa.’ He gave her a teasing smile. ‘It’s a pity the cafe in the park isn’t open, otherwise we could have stopped off on the way home.’
Fiona bumped him with her shoulder and rolled her eyes. Then she marvelled at how far the two of them had come in a couple of days. This time last week she would never have dreamt she would feel so at ease in Bill’s company. She had gone from thinking he was a grumpy old bugger, to hoping they were now friends.
She had enjoyed cooking lunch for him yesterday, and they’d made a good team as they’d bounced ideas off one another. Bill had a sensible head on his shoulders, and she couldn’t believe how supportive he’d been, considering he had dismissed the cafe in the beginning. Maybe he was one of those people who took a while to warm up to an idea.
She supposed that he needed to be cautious, considering the job he used to do and the huge responsibility that went with it. She didn’t know anything about boats or the sea, but she guessed that rushing into something without thinking it through could lead to a ship running aground or smashing onto rocks. Better to be cautious and considered, than flighty and impetuous, she thought.
As she set off down her chosen side of the street, it occurred to her that having Bill sitting at her kitchen table hadn’t seemed as strange as she’d thought it might, considering no other man had sat there (apart from David) since Bradley died. What would her husband have made of all this, she wondered as she entered the first shop, with a poster in her hand and a smile on her face. It saddened her that she would never know. But then, there were so many other things that he hadn’t lived to see – his son reaching adulthood being one of them.
By the time she’d walked out of the dentist, she had managed to put the melancholy thoughts behind her (for the time being at least – they never went away for long), and she was pleased with her reception so far. Every shop and business she’d asked, had been more than happy to put up a poster. Some had even given her a raffle prize, and the foldaway shopping bag she kept in her handbag was bursting at the seams. But now that she had reached the square, her confidence ebbed away.
She had a gut feeling that Pamela Edwards wouldn’t be happy when she knew about the cafe, so Fiona scurried into the pharmacy next door and hoped the cafe owner didn’t spot her dishing out posters.
Oh lord, there was Glenys, waiting for a prescription. The last thing Fiona wanted was to be drawn into a Pamela-bashing conversation, especially when there was a captive audience of customers and staff.
Thankfully Glenys seemed to be in a hurry, because just as she noticed Fiona, her name was called and she was handed the prescription she had been waiting for. ‘Hello, Fiona, can’t stop. Mrs Pemberton is waiting for her tablets. She’s having trouble doing a number two, and the poor dear is in agony.’
Mrs Pemberton lived a few doors up from Fiona, and Fiona winced, thinking that the old lady probably wouldn’t be happy if she realised that half of Sweet Meadow was aware of her constipation. For an ex-medical professional, Glenys had a mouth on her – ‘indiscreet’ must be her middle name, and Fiona was relieved that she had never been on the receiving end of Glenys’s ministrations.
However, the woman’s heart was in the right place; she would do anyone a favour and would go out of her way to help if she could. It wasn’t only Mrs Pemberton who Glenys ran errands for, so maybe her tendency to speak before she thought was a small price to pay.
Glenys hurried outside, Fiona marvelling at her energy. They were roughly the same age, give or take a couple of years, yet Glenys acted like a woman twenty years younger, and Fiona wished she knew her secret.
Fiona was about to turn back to the counter and the pharmacist’s assistant who was waiting to serve her, when she caught sight of Bill and Patch on the opposite side of the square. He was coming out of the barbers, his arms full of what Fiona assumed to be raffle prizes (or maybe he had done his shopping at the same time as handing out posters) and who should spot him too, but Glenys.
Fiona watched as the woman made a beeline for him, and she continued to watch as Glenys simpered and flirted.
Gah! Even from this distance she could see Glenys batting her eyelids as she fished a reusable shopping bag out of her pocket and gave it to him. And Fiona positively glowered when Glenys placed a hand on his arm as Bill showed her one of the posters. She moved closer to him to read it, then gazed up at him, her eyelashes fluttering again.
Give it a rest, love, Fiona thought. The woman was so obvious, it was embarrassing. But what was even more galling, was that Bill seemed to be lapping up the attention.
Cross with herself because it was none of her business who Glenys flirted with, Fiona turned her attention back to her task. Having received assurances that the poster would be displayed in the window, Fiona left the pharmacy, her eyes scanning the square, but Bill was nowhere in sight. And neither was Glenys.
When she arrived at their agreed meeting place, Fiona was relieved to find him alone. For some reason she’d got it into her head that Glenys might have wormed her way into their little fund-raising gang, and during the short walk to the end of the street she had decided that if Glenys was in, she was out. Though why she felt that way was a mystery. Surely the more hands, the better?
Feeling fractious, she joined Bill outside the flower shop.
‘Did it go all right?’ he asked. ‘Did someone give you grief?’
‘No, why do you ask?’
‘You seem annoyed.’
‘I’m not annoyed. Not in the slightest. I’m perfectly happy, thank you.’ He looked startled at the vehemence of her reply, and she realised she had been a bit sharp. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, softer this time.
‘Thank goodness for that. I thought I’d have to have a stiff word with someone.’
While Fiona appreciated the sentiment, she didn’t need anyone to fight her battles for her. ‘If there are any stiff words to be said, I can say them myself,’ she retorted.
‘Right. Yes. I wasn’t— Never mind.’
Now look what she’d done. She had upset him. What on earth had got into her? Maybe her blood sugar was low? Or perhaps she was tired from the unaccustomed excitement.
‘I could do with a coffee,’ she said. ‘And a sandwich.’
His face cleared. ‘I used to know someone who got hangry.’
‘Eh?’
‘You know, getting angry because you’re hungry: hangry. It’s a shame Best Bites doesn’t allow dogs, otherwise we could have had something to eat in there.’
Fiona was pleased that Pamela didn’t. She had only set foot in the cafe once since she’d sold it, and she had no desire to do so again.
‘We could pop into the Farmer’s Arms,’ Bill suggested. ‘Unless you want to get off home?’
Home wasn’t particularly appealing, but having a spot of lunch in the pub with Bill was. ‘Let’s go to the pub,’ she agreed. ‘We can ask if they’ll put up a poster and make a donation to the raffle while we’re there.’
Bill showed her his borrowed bag. ‘I’ve been given a few, and some people have put their posters up already.’ He gestured to the window behind him, and when Fiona glanced at it she was delighted to see the poster on display.
In the end, Fiona didn’t order a sandwich or any of the other ‘lite bites’ on the menu. Instead she opted for scampi and chips, reasoning that it would save her cooking a main meal for herself later. No wine today, though. However, she might have a glass this evening, as the bottle that Bill had brought over yesterday was still half full and the wine wouldn’t keep for long now that it had been opened. It would be a shame to waste it.
She briefly considered asking Bill if he would like to help her polish it off, but decided not to. They had more or less been in each other’s pockets since Saturday, so they could probably do with a break.
Still, having lunch out was a real treat and she gazed around with interest, not having visited a pub or restaurant in ages. And she hadn’t been inside the Farmer’s Arms since it had been taken over by new people and refurbished, which must have been eight or nine years ago.
‘It’s nice in here,’ she observed, surprised at how tastefully it had been done out. Under its previous management it had sported dark-coloured walls, horse brasses and hideously patterned carpets. ‘Is this your regular?’
Bill shrugged. ‘I don’t have a regular, as such. I don’t go to the pub often, if I’m honest. This is a treat for me.’
‘Me, too!’ She beamed at him, then thinking she might be coming across as a bit odd, she turned the wattage down and sipped her lemonade. Bill, she noted, also had a soft drink. ‘Do you like rum?’ she blurted.
Bill’s lips quirked. ‘Not much.’
‘Oh, I just thought…’ She trailed off.
‘That I used to be a pirate?’ Now he was laughing at her.
She snapped, ‘Don’t be silly. You look nothing like a pirate.’
‘What are pirates supposed to look like? Eye patches and parrots? Wooden legs and beards?’
‘You’re making fun of me.’
His smile was warm. ‘Yes, I am. But there’s no malice intended.’
Fiona didn’t assume there had been, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. ‘Isn’t there a tradition of rum rations in the Navy?’
‘You’re thinking of the Royal Navy. I was in the Merchant Navy. The tradition was abolished around 1970, although a company called Lambs do have a brand of rum named Navy Rum, but I’ve no idea how it differs from any other rum. My old dad always kept a bottle of it in the house. He used to say that a tot a day kept a cold at bay.’
Fiona glanced up to see a waitress approaching with their meals, and she reached for her napkin. Assuring the woman that she didn’t require any sauces and after sprinkling salt and vinegar on her chips, Fiona asked, ‘What is the Merchant Navy exactly?’ She hadn’t considered it before, but now she was curious.
‘It’s a term used to describe commercial shipping, and the vessels and crew who transport goods around the world. It has nothing to do with the military. The ships are privately owned, and the crews are civilian. That’s not to say that there isn’t some migration between the two, as the Royal Navy often recruits people who have worked for private companies, and vice versa.’
Fiona had carried on eating as Bill answered the question, but she had also been observing him. She noticed that he appeared to gain in stature as he spoke, and she caught a glimpse of the man he had once been.
Abruptly, she realised that he was still that man: the only thing that had changed was people’s perception of him, hers included. In fairness, she hadn’t known him in his previous life, but she was as guilty as the next person of only looking at the outside and not the inside. Then she wondered whether the people she had known for years, the ones who she had served for decades, now saw a doddery old woman instead of the competent, capable cafe owner she had once been. It was a sobering thought.
‘You must have had a great deal of responsibility,’ she guessed.
He nodded. ‘Thousands of tons of shipping, millions of dollars in cargo, and not to mention the crew’s lives in my hands.’
He wasn’t boasting, Fiona realised. He was saying it like it was. ‘I bet you’ve seen some wonderful places.’
‘And some not-so-wonderful ones. Sometimes the turnaround meant that we didn’t get much time on shore, or if we did, it wasn’t advisable to leave the dock area. Occasionally, we didn’t want to because it was nicer onboard – and that’s saying something!’
‘How many countries have you been to?’ Fiona was fascinated.
He swallowed the morsel in his mouth before answering. ‘I’ve lost count, but it’s safe to say that the only continent I haven’t been to is Antarctica.’
‘What’s your favourite place?’
‘That’s a hard one. I suppose it depends on what you mean by favourite. Some are beautiful for a holiday, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Some are lively and exciting, like Hong Kong, but I wouldn’t want to live there, either.’ He hesitated, pulling a face. ‘This might sound corny, but my favourite place is here, in Sweet Meadow.’
‘It’s not corny at all. It’s where you grew up.’
‘ Hiraeth ,’ he said solemnly.
Fiona utterly agreed with the sentiment. Although the Welsh word was difficult to translate into English, she could well imagine the yearning homesickness he must have felt when he was away. She too, used to have a longing for home whenever she left it, and she’d never been away from her little Welsh town for more than a couple of weeks. It was lovely to go on holiday, but there was nothing quite like home, was there?
‘Have you never been tempted to settle down in any of those far-flung places?’ she asked.
A cloud passed over his face but was gone so quickly that Fiona thought she must have imagined it.
‘Once or twice.’ His voice was light, but she sensed something off about it. However, he carried on, ‘My home was whichever ship I was on at the time.’
‘Why cargo ships? Why not cruise ships?’ With every answered question, a dozen more popped into her mind.
‘That’s easy – passengers. Too many people, and I would have been expected to be nice to them. Give me a sea can any day.’
‘Sea can?’
‘Shipping container; those big metal boxes that are used to transport goods.’
‘What goods did you transport?’
His lips quirked. ‘All kinds. You name it, I’ve shipped it. Oil, grain, car parts, wood, chemicals, plastic ducks… Whatever needs to be moved from one location to another by sea. The list is endless.’
‘Do you miss it?’ As she asked the question, she recalled asking Glenys the exact same thing a few days ago, and wondered whether she was asking people that because she missed her time at the cafe.
‘Now and again. The good bits, mostly. The bad bits tend to fade over time, or they don’t seem as horrible as they were. I believe it’s called nostalgia’
‘True…’ Although Fiona distinctly remembered the reasons she had decided to sell up and retire, lately she had begun to question them. Bill had hit the nail on the head – nostalgia .
‘Should we be naughty and have pudding?’ Bill asked, and when Fiona glanced down at her plate she was surprised to see that she had cleared it.
‘Why not? I’ll have a coffee too, if you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all. I’ll join you.’
Fiona uttered a sigh of satisfaction: she couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed lunch as much. Actually, yes, she could – yesterday’s lunch had been equally as lovely. And the common denominator had been Bill.
Now, that was food for thought.