A Silver Lining (15 page)

‘And this is your baby. Here, you haven’t got a clue, Eddie Powell.’ Diana lifted the baby gently from Eddie’s arms, and stood in front of the stove swaying from side to side as she rocked him in her arms.

A lump rose in Bethan’s throat as she carried the dirty mixing bowl into the washhouse. Used to Andrew regarding the baby as a disgrace, she was now finding it hard to accept everyone’s support.

‘Is there anything I can do to help, Bethan?’ Charlie, who’d hung back while Diana had greeted her, stepped into the washhouse.

‘Nothing thanks, Charlie,’ Bethan answered, struggling to keep the emotion from her voice.

‘I could wash that for you.’

‘It can wait until I do the dishes.’ She turned and smiled at him, reassured by the solid strength that radiated from his heavily muscled, blessedly familiar figure. Charlie had once told her that neither she nor anyone else in Pontypridd could depend on him. That he was a drifter, a wanderer, ‘here today, gone tomorrow’.

But she was astute enough to realise that although that might be the way he saw himself, he was in reality very different. For as long as she’d known him he’d been there, quietly but staunchly lending his strength and support to his friends in times of need. It had been Charlie who’d helped William pick up the pieces after William’s mother, her Aunt Megan, had been jailed. Charlie, who’d given William a job when he needed one. Charlie who’d lent her father the money he needed to start his rag and bone round. ‘It’s good to see you,’ she said, meaning it.

‘It’s good to see you too,’ he replied giving her one of his rare smiles.

‘I’m off then!’

Bethan looked into the kitchen. Her mother was standing in the open doorway. The warm air of the kitchen was blowing out around her into the passage as a freezing cold draught whistled in from the rest of the unheated house. Standing in the open doorway of the kitchen was a cardinal sin Elizabeth would have taken anyone else severely to task over.

‘Mam, where are you going?’

‘I’m leaving, and I won’t be back.’

For the first time Bethan noticed that her mother was dressed in her old grey coat, the only coat she remembered seeing her wear. Her black felt hat and the jet-headed pin she had inherited from her own mother were in her hands. Her handbag and a battered brown leather suitcase that had seen better days stood at her feet.

Elizabeth jammed her hat on her head, skewering it firmly in place with the pin. ‘I’m leaving,’ she repeated in a voice pitched perilously close to hysteria. ‘I wasn’t brought up to criminal dealings. My father was a minister of God. He would turn in his grave if he could see just how low his daughter has been brought by the man she was blind and foolish enough to marry.’

‘But where will you go at this time of night?’ Bethan ventured practically, unnerved by the peculiar look in her mother’s eyes. Elizabeth was inevitably cutting and dismissive of any behaviour that deviated from her own rigid standards. But she had always behaved rationally.

Bethan felt as though the woman in front of her was a stranger. A ranting, wild-eyed stranger.

‘I am going to throw myself on the mercy of my Uncle John Joseph Bull in the hope that he doesn’t close his door against me in my hour of need.’

‘Mam, you know what he’s like,’ Eddie protested.

‘I do
know what he’s like,’ she shouted, turning viciously on Eddie. ‘He’s unlike you. He’s a minister of God. A good Christian, God-fearing man who knows the path of righteousness. He would never allow the Devil to lead him astray as your father has done. He –’

‘Mam, it’s late. Why don’t you stay here just for tonight,’ Bethan pleaded. ‘We’ll have tea soon. You can get a good night’s rest, then if you still want to go, I’ll take you to Uncle Bull’s first thing in the morning.’

‘I won’t spend another night under the roof of a disciple of the Devil. My family warned me. So help me God, Uncle Joseph himself told me the day I married your father that it would come to this. And he was right. I sacrificed the best years of my life to that man. Bore his children, reared them, and look at my reward! You’ve all ignored my teachings to follow in your father’s evil ways. Every one of you. Haydn, my eldest son, the one I had such hopes for. Did he enter the ministry as I brought him up to do? Oh no, not him! He had to go "on stage". Singing, dancing like a fool for the amusement of those who know no better than to watch the antics of a half-wit. Consorting with naked women-’

‘Mam!’ Bethan interjected.

‘And you can talk, Miss, or is it Mrs now? Your child bears the hallmark of God’s punishment for your sins. The retribution of the Lord may be slow in coming, but it comes, and when it does it is always just. You may count on that.’

‘Mam, that’s a cruel thing to say.’ Eddie was on his feet, fists clenched.

‘You dare talk to me about cruelty? You, whose only thoughts are of money and how to get it by beating people to a pulp. I wouldn’t be surprised if even Maud’s lung sickness stems from the rottenness that abounds in this family. Look where she is now, living in a heathen land among papists ...’

‘If you’re set on going Mam, I’ll carry your case.’ Seething with barely suppressed anger, Eddie stepped forward and picked up his mother’s bags.

‘I can go alone.’

‘Not at this hour of the night you can’t.’ Eddie glanced at Bethan and knew the same thought was in both their minds. John Joseph was as hard and unforgiving as their mother. If he refused to open his door, Elizabeth would be left on the streets of the Rhondda too late to catch the last bus back to Pontypridd. And it was a very long walk from the Rhondda to the Graig.

‘I could go down to the café and ask Tony if I can borrow the Trojan,’ Will offered.

‘You will do no such thing,’ Elizabeth retorted. ‘As if it isn’t bad enough that the whole town knows about my disgrace.’

Turning up the collar on his coat, Eddie walked to the front door with the case.

Elizabeth looked at her daughter. ‘Goodbye,’ she said sternly. ‘Don’t forget to tell your father what I’ve said. I will never set foot in this house again as long as I live. My only desire is to never clap eyes on him again. He has burdened this camel with the final back-breaking straw. I have made my last sacrifice for him.’ She walked away stiffly. Bethan stood and watched her go. The door closed. It was left to Diana to break the silence.

‘Here.’ She handed William the baby.

‘I don’t know what to do with a baby,’ he objected.

‘Time you learnt.’ She picked up the toad-in-the-hole and put it in the oven. ‘Have you made up beds for yourself and the baby, Beth?’

‘No. I fell asleep earlier and I didn’t get around to doing them.’

‘Well there’s no time like the present. Charlie, lay the table please, and keep an eye on the tea, or is it supper now. What do you say we make up your parents’ bed with clean sheets, Beth, seeing as how the room’s empty now?’

Chapter Nine

‘What about Eddie?’ Diana protested as Bethan cut the toad-in-the-hole into four and shared it among them, giving herself the smallest portion.

‘There’s nothing worse than a meal like this that’s been kept warm for hours. The pudding part turns to leather. I’ll make him an omelette when he gets back.’

As Diana cut into the crisp batter and well-browned sausages she tried to think of something she could say to lighten the atmosphere. Elizabeth’s outburst had affected them all. Except perhaps Charlie, who sat eating his meal as self-possessed and remote as ever.

‘Will, do you remember seeing a cot when Uncle Evan and Eddie cleared the box room for me?’ Diana asked her brother, finally settling on a safe topic.

‘I wasn’t around when they cleared it,’ William replied.

‘I’m sure there was one,’ Diana mused. ‘I’m not happy with the idea of you sharing your bed with the baby, Beth.’ She sliced her sausage daintily into small pieces as she spoke. ‘I know you. You’ll be so afraid of rolling on to him during the night; you won’t close your eyes. And by the look of you, you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months.’

‘I sleep well enough. And we’ll manage. I think he’s as worn out by the travelling as I am.’ Bethan looked across to where Edmund lay on her father’s easy chair, held securely in place by a makeshift contraption William had ingeniously constructed out of cushions and the kitchen stool.

‘I wonder if they put it in the loft.’

‘What?’ William shovelled the last of the food on his plate into his mouth. The hollow in his stomach after a hard day’s work had been a great deal larger than either the toad or the hole. He looked around hopefully for signs of something sweet and substantial. Fruit pie or jam roly-poly and custard, perhaps?

‘The cot of course,’ Diana answered irritably.

‘I’ll climb up the attic when we’ve finished eating and take a look.’

‘As long as you’re careful,’ Bethan warned.

‘You remember the time Haydn and Eddie fell through the rafters?’

‘They told my mother they were looking for treasure. She wasn’t very amused. It cost a fortune in plasterboard to repair the ceiling to my bedroom,’ Bethan explained to Diana and Charlie.

‘I’ll go up there if you like,’ Charlie offered.

‘Thank you.’

‘That’s great, Beth. You let him go not me,’ William grumbled.

‘He’s lighter on his feet than you,’ Diana pointed out.

‘He may be lighter on his feet but he’s heavier overall.’

Despite Diana’s brave attempts, the mood remained strained. Exhaustion coupled with the emotional upset of her mother’s leaving had made Bethan lightheaded, and when Diana suggested, to William’s chagrin, that she clear the dishes, Bethan was happy to take her up on the offer.

She changed Edmund and gave him his last feed while William and Charlie went rummaging upstairs. William emerged triumphant ten minutes later, with cobwebs in his hair, dust streaked down his nose and a large parcel wrapped in an old sheet.

‘We’ve put the big cot in your dad’s bedroom, Bethan,’ he said, self-consciously omitting Elizabeth’s name. ‘It was in pieces so Charlie’s screwing it together. But look what else I found.’ He pulled the sheet back to reveal a beautiful hand-carved oak cot. Set low on wide bowed rockers it had high sides and an overhanging fretwork canopy to shield the precious occupier from draughts.

‘Mam Powell’s old family cot!’ Bethan exclaimed in delight. ‘I’d forgotten all about it. I remember you sleeping in it and Diana, and Maud. Mam Powell told me her grandfather carved it for her mother when she was born.’

‘Then it must be a fair old age now.’ William held it up to the light and looked it over with a keen eye. ‘The wood’s split in one or two places, but there’s nothing serious that I can see. A clean-up, oiling, a bit of polish, a good dry-out in front of the fire and it will be as good as new. In fact if I get to work on it right away you’ll probably be able to use it tomorrow.’

‘The perfect day cot for down here. Will, you’re a genius.’ Bethan was so pleased she kissed him on the cheek.

‘No slop please.’ He made a wry face as he rubbed the spot she’d kissed with his handkerchief. ‘You’re a married woman now, and I’m a very handsome eligible bachelor. What
would
cashmere coat say if he could see you?’

Bethan fell silent. The cot wasn’t the only thing she’d forgotten about. The nickname her brothers and William had bestowed on her husband held just the right ring of valley contempt for the crache. Exactly the kind of contempt the younger male Powells had reserved for Andrew.

‘Will the other cot need airing?’ Diana asked as she walked in from the washhouse with the dishcloth in her hand.

‘It’s painted iron. Does that need airing? It’s certainly cold enough.’

‘Iron doesn’t need airing, you fool.’

‘The mattress will though. It’s been wrapped in rubber sheeting, but it still feels damp to me.’

‘Of course it’s damp,’ Diana countered impatiently. ’It’s been in the attic, you stupid boy.’

‘I am neither a boy nor stupid ...’

‘Did you bring the mattress downstairs?’ Bethan asked tactfully in an attempt to divert her cousins’ attention.

‘No, I couldn’t carry it and this at the same time.’

William set the cot down on the hearth-rug.

‘I’ll go up and take a look at it.’ Diana opened the door. ‘I didn’t mean for you to go running about,’ Bethan protested. ‘You’ve been working all day.’

‘You sit there and feed the baby,’ Diana smiled. ‘You look very pretty, like an advertisement for motherhood.’

An hour later Diana had organised everything. Both cots had been washed and disinfected, inside and out. The mattress Elizabeth had so carefully stored in rubber sheets had been placed in front of the stove to air. Diana had made up the baby’s bed, substituting a folded bolster for the mattress, and using pillowcases instead of sheets.

‘It’s only for one night,’ she told Bethan as she came downstairs with the slop bucket. ‘And now everything’s ready, I suggest you take yourself and your baby up the wooden hill and get a good night’s sleep.’

‘I should wait for Eddie to get back.’

‘I’ll wait up for Eddie.’

‘But you’ve got work in the morning.’

‘One late night isn’t going to kill me. Go on, off with you.’

‘I really should talk to Eddie.’

‘The kind of talking you two have to do is probably best left until morning. Neither of you can set the world, or your mam and dad, to rights tonight.’

‘Yes mother,’ Bethan joked, relieved to offload her problems on to Diana’s willing shoulders for one night.

‘See you in the morning.’ Diana took the baby’s bottle from Bethan’s hand. ‘I’ll wash this, and in case you start looking for it, I’ve carried your case upstairs. All you have to do is undress and get into bed.’

Bethan glanced at the clock as she left her chair. It was half-past nine, way past the bedtime hour she had made Edmund adhere to in London. ‘Thanks a million, Diana.

What would I do without you?’ she murmured exhaustion and emotion making her tearful.

‘You’ll be just fine,’ Diana retorted firmly. ‘Everything will seem a whole lot better in the morning, Beth. You’ll see.’

‘It won’t be any worse, and that’s for sure,’ William muttered darkly from behind the detective novel Evan had borrowed from the Central Lending Library.

Charlie sat quietly in one of the easy chairs until Bethan went upstairs, then he walked down the hall and picked up his coat from a hook behind the front door.

‘Pint in the Graig?’ Will asked, looking up from the book he was only half reading, in the hope Charlie would ask him along. Normally he would have gone down the gym with Eddie, not to box, but for company and a card game. No one had the money to do very much on a week night and it was easy for boredom to set in. But he knew better than to try to go anywhere with Charlie uninvited.

‘Just a walk,’ Charlie answered flatly as he went outside. He closed the door behind him and stood on the doorstep for a moment.

It was a cold, crisp, clear night. Stars shone down, glittering spangles in a navy blue velvet sky. A sharp new moon silvered gossamer wisps of clouds as they drifted slowly across its pitted surface. The perfect night for a walk.

After the strain of the day,

Charlie had a sudden craving for clean, fresh air. Reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, he descended the steps and walked out on to the unmade road. Iced by a thin layer of frost, the bare earth crunched beneath his feet as he turned right towards the end of the Avenue and the beginning of the mountain. If it hadn’t been for the glow of the street lamps and the distant whine of a bus battling to climb up the Graig hill he could have been the last man left on earth. The thought wasn’t an unpleasant one.

The front windows of the houses he passed were shrouded in darkness. Everyone in Graig Avenue lived out their waking lives in the warmth of their back kitchens, leaving bedtime and their freezing bedrooms until the last possible moment. He bent his head and struck a match.

Inhaling deeply on the strong tobacco, he climbed towards the crest of the mountain. He had always sought peace and solace in nature rather than the company of other men, and after witnessing Elizabeth’s savage outburst he felt he didn’t have to justify his preference to himself, or others, ever again.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, his pace quickened. He reached a large flat stone lightly padded by coarse, wiry whinberry plants. It made the ideal seat.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, he propped his chin on his hands and continued to smoke. Below him, lit by street and kitchen lamps, lay the backs of the houses that ribboned the lower slopes of the Graig. The cubes of coalhouses and ty bachs, divided by garden walls and fogged by smoke from low-built chimneys, stood in regimented rows.

An ex-miner walked into a backyard in Danygraig Street. Charlie knew he’d worked on the coal-face by the sound –a foul, lung-wrenching cough that could never ruffle the surface of the thick layer of dust that had settled on his chest. He counted himself fortunate that he hadn’t had to resort to making a living in the pits.

If only he could be sure he was doing the right thing. Opening the shop meant working for himself, tying himself to a building, putting down roots, making himself responsible for the welfare and well-being of others.

Something he had sworn he would never do again. And he didn’t have to look far for the motive that had caused him, if not to forget, then at least to set aside his promise to himself.

Alma Moore.

He pictured her slim figure bending, swaying to avoid people as she walked through the crowded market. She reminded him of reeds wavering in the winds that had blown around a lake, where –’back home’?

He had to stop thinking of ‘back home’. He had no home now.

He shivered and pulled the lapels of his coat high around his neck, wishing he’d brought his muffler.

Winters had been cold in Russia too. But not damp. Never damp, with this insidious chill that permeated the bones and joints, making the middle-aged creak like ninety-year-olds. Would that happen to him if he remained in Pontypridd? No matter how he tried to look at it, one of the reasons for renting the shop and setting up in business was Alma.

Ever since he’d held her in his arms he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. The gossip he’d overheard in the market worried him. He knew just how harsh and unforgiving a face the town could present to a girl who’d lost her reputation. He’d seen it with Bethan Powell before Andrew John had come back to Pontypridd to get her. How much closer had the loss of her morning job put Alma to the breadline? Was she really making ends meet?

Strange, when she’d been Ronnie Ronconi’s girl he’d scarcely given her a second thought. She’d simply been the pleasant waitress who’d served him every time he went into the café. After Ronnie left he’d noticed she’d lost weight, looked ill, but her plight hadn’t really touched him. Not until the night she’d collapsed.

He wanted to offer Alma a full-time job in his shop. Afraid that something might go wrong, he’d put off approaching her until everything was signed and sealed, but as of that morning the place was his. He was stuck with it –but what if she wouldn’t work for him? There were plenty of others who would jump at the chance. The problem was, another girl wouldn’t be the same as Alma.

Charlie tried to examine his motives objectively.

Didn’t he simply want to make some money to put behind him against –against what? The time he returned to Russia? There was no going back. He had known that the day he’d jumped ship in Cardiff docks. But it wasn’t as if he was thinking of settling down with the girl. He had, after all, only signed a lease. It was simply a matter of getting the shop on its feet. Six months, a year at the most, then if he wanted to he could sell it as a going concern, and sign the lease over at a profit.

He had checked that the solicitor had put a transfer clause into the document. William was a good lad, a bit headstrong but he was a hard worker. If he signed the business over to William, he’d get his money back –eventually.

So what was he worried about? He didn’t have to stay in Pontypridd one day longer than he wanted to.

There was nothing more to keep him in Wales today than there had been yesterday. Nothing except a reed-slim girl with red hair, witching green eyes, and pride enough to hold her head high, even when the whole town condemned her for falling in love with a man who had deserted her.

He dropped his cigarette and trod on it. If he wasn’t careful Alma Moore could become a problem. But then, he hadn’t offered her the job yet, and when he did there was a chance she might not take it. But if she did?

The little devil voice echoed in his mind as he rose stiffly to his feet and descended the hill. If she did, he’d have to watch himself, that was all. He’d survived eight years without getting too close to people. He could survive a few years more until- when?

The future loomed cold, empty, terrifying in its grey solitude. He shivered. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about where he was going for eight long years. He dare not break that habit. Not now.