A Perfect Christmas (12 page)

The Thomases were an odd couple, to her way of thinking. Mr Thomas she didn’t have much to do with so really couldn’t make much of. She only saw him in passing as she was performing her duties around the house, and the most she got out of him was a curt good morning or afternoon in that whiny voice of his, and then he would act as if she wasn’t there while she carried on her work around him. It had always been a source of great curiosity to Agnes, though, that a woman like Nerys Thomas, who was very attractive with film-star looks in the mould of Elizabeth Taylor, and could have had her pick of men, had settled for a wishy-washy dull little man like Samuel Thomas. But she clearly doted on him, pampered and fussed over him as if he was a china doll, and he certainly lapped up the attention he received and doted as much back on her. For Agnes it was quite nauseating to witness the way they would snuggle close together, she smoothing a tender hand down the side of his face, him simpering back at her. To her it wasn’t natural that two people should be entirely caught up with one another, so much so that if one died she had a feeling the other wouldn’t last long.

What she couldn’t understand either was the way Mrs Thomas hardly ever left the house, except to go to the beauty parlour, clothes shopping, to the library once a week to collect books for them both, and once a month on a Wednesday out for a couple of hours – though where she went, Agnes had no idea. They loved their garden, which was looked after by a man who came in three times a week, and in fine weather would sit together in the shade of the oak tree reading their books, and in winter wrap up warm and link arms, taking slow strolls around the grounds. Apart from that, neither of the Thomases seemed interested at all in the outside world. This holiday they were taking had come as a great surprise to Agnes as during her time with them they had never travelled before. The concern about Mr Thomas’s health must be serious then. To her knowledge they had no friends and made no effort whatsoever to make any. After they’d moved in fifteen years ago, when Agnes had first started employment with them, she had witnessed neighbours round about soon getting the message that any invitations they made to the Thomases would not be taken up, and they’d certainly receive none back. It seemed to Agnes that they were content in their own little world together and neither needed nor welcomed anyone else into it, not even their own daughter.

She was sincerely sorry about the fact that the young woman’s marriage had been called off. From what she had glimpsed of Neil when she had answered the door to him, he seemed a very personable sort and Cait herself was clearly besotted with him. However had she managed to explain the reason why he was never invited inside the house, except for once when she had persuaded her parents to allow her to introduce her future husband to them? Agnes had been present, serving the tea, and was struck by the lack of interest the Thomases showed in their daughter’s fiancé or in the wedding plans. But from the little she had observed of the way Cait was with Neil, Agnes herself hadn’t been surprised that he had called off the wedding. She had never come across a man except for Samuel Thomas who seemed to thrive on having his life organised for him by a woman. She had desperately wanted to take Cait aside and warn her that she could lose her intended through her suffocating behaviour towards him, but she had not dared to do so for the sake of her job.

What was really making Agnes’s blood boil now was the glaring truth that the Thomases had never had any intention of attending their daughter’s wedding. Holidays abroad took a lot of planning so organising this trip must have started many weeks or even months ago. It was apparent from Cait’s reaction this morning that she’d had no idea of this state of affairs. If the wedding hadn’t been called off, she would have gone off to work this morning, excited at the prospect of her wedding in a few days’ time, only to come home tonight to discover her parents gone. What kind of selfish, thoughtless people acted so despicably to their own child? And if their actions weren’t terrible enough, Mrs Thomas herself had been closeted in her bedroom early this morning, making telephone calls, and Agnes had become aware what they were about when Nerys finally emerged and instructed her to box up the wedding gown and bridesmaids’ dresses plus the accessories. She had fetched them from Cait’s room while she’d still been asleep this morning, ready for collection by a delivery man for return to the suppliers, Nerys obviously meaning to recoup the money she had laid out for them.

And as if that wasn’t enough for the young girl to be coping with, the Thomases were still expecting her to leave home and make her own way in the world! Agnes was at a loss to understand just why Mrs Thomas would so blatantly want rid of her own daughter. It wasn’t like she was much trouble or they had cramped living conditions and needed the space. In truth Agnes should be glad that with Caitlyn gone from the household it would be one less person for her to be cooking for and clearing up after, but in light of her memories of the sweet-natured child she’d first encountered all those years ago, who’d the potential to grow into a lovely young woman given a little love and encouragement, she couldn’t help but feel deeply worried about and sorry for her.

Seeing Caitlyn now looking utterly desolate, Agnes couldn’t help but offer the young girl some kind words.

‘Forgive me if you think I’m being impertinent, Miss Thomas, as I don’t intend to be, but I’m very sorry to hear your wedding is off.’ She immediately wished she hadn’t spoken as she could plainly tell the young woman was fighting desperately with herself not to break down in front of her. Agnes was well aware that her mother had instilled in Cait the belief that displays of emotion were vulgar. She had to stop herself from going over and putting an arm around the young woman, offering her some comfort, but that would definitely be deemed as stepping out of her place.

Agnes tried to find something positive to say in an effort to cheer her up. ‘I’m sorry too that you’ll be leaving the house. But having your own place, you’ll be able to stay out as late as you like and have no one waiting up worrying about your whereabouts and giving you a telling off when you get home.’ Then she could have bitten out her tongue as the look that clouded Caitlyn’s face told Agnes what she herself should have known. The Thomases hadn’t cared enough about her to do any such thing.

Deep down, Cait very much appreciated Agnes’s efforts to make her feel better. In fact, she would have liked nothing more than to throw herself into the old woman’s arms, feel her wipe away her tears and tell her that everything would be all right, but if it ever got back to her mother’s ears then she’d suffer Nerys’s displeasure. So Cait merely informed Agnes that she was going back to bed and left the kitchen.

Once she had tidied up there was no reason for Agnes to remain here any longer, considering she wasn’t being paid. She should be on her way. She’d never had a complete day off in all the years she had worked for the Thomases and would have no trouble filling the days ahead, but she couldn’t help but worry how the young mistress was going to cope on her own, facing the prospect she was. She hadn’t eaten today and whether she would be bothered to make herself something, considering the dejected mood she was in, greatly concerned Agnes. You shouldn’t grieve on an empty stomach, in her opinion. Caitlyn was capable of putting a sandwich together for herself but anything more than that was beyond her as Mrs Thomas had never thought to make it her business to ensure she could cook even the basics, or was equipped to tackle any other household tasks come to that. Putting a meal together for her to heat up later wouldn’t take Agnes long and, all her motherly instincts rising to the fore, she decided to do that before she left.

A very short while later, lying in a foetal position, bedclothes cocooned around her, pillowcase soaked with tears, Cait heard the back door closing as Mrs Dalby took her leave. The house fell deathly silent and a dark cloud of loneliness clamped itself around Cait.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘W
ell, you seem like a nice couple so the flat is yours, if you want it.’

Jan had already explained to Glen that until they were both earning enough to support themselves separately, they would have to share accommodation or the money she had helped herself to from her husband’s fund wouldn’t last five minutes. Glen’s opinion was that if sharing with Jan for however long meant he didn’t have to return to his vagrant life, then he would do what it took.

The small two-bedroomed flat they were viewing wasn’t in the best of areas and its condition was poor. It had a small kitchen, the grubby gas stove not appearing to have been cleaned since the day it was installed. On it sat a battered, blackened aluminium kettle. Under the window that looked out into a small cluttered back yard stood a cracked brown pot sink with one large cold water tap, turned green with age. Against a wall stood a grubby-looking yellow kitchenette which would hold all their eating and cooking utensils plus their food. Jan wouldn’t be able to bring herself to prepare anything in here until she had given all the appliances a good scrub. There were two small bedrooms, each holding a metal-framed bed, rusting in parts, with a thin mattress and tallboy and in a recess by the boarded-up fireplace a clothes rail where they would hang clothes. The toilet was outside in the yard. The wallpaper in all the rooms was very faded, coming away from the wall in places, and the paintwork was chipped and needing a scrub. The furniture had seen far better days. But it was reasonably priced and vacant, and certainly the best out of the four places they had already viewed.

Glen was aware that living here would be a vast comedown for Jan, having seen the home she had been forced to leave, but to him the thought of a chair to sit in, a bed to sleep in, the means to cook a hot meal, and all undercover . . . this place was like a palace. He was just terrified it could all be taken away as quickly as it had been handed to him, and that he’d find himself back on the streets. He was also surprised by the fact that after spending so many years keeping himself to himself, he felt comfortable enough with Jan to drop his guard and be open and honest with her, have faith that her only motive in doing what she was for him was because she sincerely wanted to try and help him get his life back on track. She could so easily have used all the money she had taken for herself. She was indeed a special person and he felt it a great pity that her husband hadn’t realised that what he had caught her doing was in fact a cry for help from him, to recognise that his wife was a woman with needs of her own, which he seemed to have forgotten in his grief.

‘We’ll take it.’ Without consulting Glen, Jan clinched the deal with the portly, ruddy-faced landlord, who lived in the flat downstairs with his equally rotund wife. They did seem a nice enough couple, though, and not likely to give their tenants any bother unless they didn’t keep up with the rent.

‘Good, then I’ll get you a rent book, you pay me the necessary and you can move in when you like, Mr and Mrs . . . er . . .’

‘Trainer,’ ‘Clayton,’ Glen and Jan told him in unison.

With the landlord eyeing them both suspiciously, Jan quickly laughed and told him, ‘Don’t take any notice of me. It’s Trainer. We’ve only been married twenty years and I still keep referring to my maiden name. Give me another twenty and I might accept the fact that I’m not Clayton any longer.’

The landlord laughed then. ‘There’re times when I wish my wife would forget she’s married and where she lives. Anyway, I’ll leave you to have another look round while I sort the rent book out.’

Glen and Jan were both extremely grateful that their new landlord was taking them both at face value and not asking for any references.

A few hours later, Jan handed Glen a cup of tea and sat down wearily in the worn brown moquette armchair opposite him, sipping from her own cup. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ she sighed. ‘Tea to your liking, husband dear?’ she jocularly asked.

He smiled back at her. ‘Perfect.’ He leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on the hearth of the tiled fireplace. ‘I could get used to this.’

She gave a snort. ‘I bet you could! I’m not your real wife, though, so housework is shared between us. All right, Mr Trainer?’

‘I didn’t need to be asked to help you give this place a scrub, did I? It certainly needed it. When I lived rough I’d nothing to clean up but I did my fair share of sweeping, mopping floors and preparing food in the kitchen when I was in prison. Oh, not to forget the latrines and showers. That wasn’t a job for the faint-hearted, believe me.’

Jan shuddered at the thought. There was a twinkle in her eyes, though, when she told him, ‘Well, in that case, you can prepare our evening meal because after all that shopping we did for our bits and pieces after we signed for this place, and then setting to to rid it from its dust and dirt, I’m fair whacked out. While you’re doing it, I’ll put away all that stuff we bought from the second-hand and jumble shops. I really would have liked to give the sheets and blankets we got a wash before we use them tonight, but we’ll just have to grin and bear it until I can get down the launderette with them.’ She gave a laugh. ‘They can’t be compared to that dreadful thing you loaned me to keep warm in last night, can they?’ Then she cast a glance around the bare walls and shelves. ‘I would have liked to have bought a few bits to make this place more homely, but at least we’ve a roof over our heads. I thought we’d have egg and chips for supper. That suit you?’

‘Sounds like a feast to me,’ Glen said. ‘I assume the plan for tomorrow is that we go hunting for work. I suppose the best place to start is the Labour Exchange. I just hope they don’t want to delve too deeply into my past. I don’t know what kind of jobs they put an ex-con and vagrant forward for.’

‘Most people have some sort of skeleton in their cupboards. I doubt they’ll want to know what you were doing twenty years ago, but for the last ten you can tell them that you worked for a firm doing . . . I don’t know . . . whatever comes to mind . . . but the owner died and the firm folded so that’s why you can’t provide any references. It’s a lie but told with the best of intentions.’ Jan looked thoughtful then. ‘I’ve been thinking about the work situation. Since what we’re doing is all in aid of trying to come up with a way for you to get your business back and find your daughter too, would it not be a good idea to check out if there’s any work going at your old firm? We might be lucky. After so many years, I doubt there’s anyone still working there who would recognise you. But if one of us was working there we might be able to fathom out a way to get ourselves into the boss’s office and have a look through his private files for information on your ex-wife’s whereabouts. If she has sold the business on, we’d still need the new owner’s personal details so we could pay them a visit, using some excuse or other, and get them to part with information about the person they bought the business off.’