A Silver Lining (34 page)

Chapter Twenty

‘Darling, I am sorry,’ Mrs John rang the bell for the maid and ordered an extra place to be laid at the breakfast table. ‘It must have been a dreadful strain on you, and Bethan of course. How is she taking it?’

‘As well as can be expected,’ Andrew answered the standard question with the standard reply.

‘Well, all I can say is it has to be for the best, darling. A child like that ...’

Two days ago Andrew would have agreed with her sentiments, but after seeing the anguished expression on Bethan’s face as she had nursed the child the night before he couldn’t. Not anymore.

‘You must be absolutely worn out, all this –’

‘Bethan’s borne the brunt of it,’ he interrupted.

‘Yes, of course,’ she agreed hastily. ‘Being the mother, she must have.’

‘How are you and Dad keeping?’ He determinedly changed the subject.

‘Oh, we’re fine, right as rain.’ She began to rearrange a posy of primroses on the side table next to her. ‘Your father was upset of course when he saw Bethan’s father in the police cells. And I can’t say that either of us was exactly overjoyed when we heard that he’d been sent to prison. It’s just like her aunt’s case all over again, such a dreadful ...’

As his mother chattered on, Andrew sat back and studied her as though she were a stranger. Peculiar really, how he’d had to leave home before he could evaluate his parents for what they really were. The foibles, the pettiness, the meticulous attention paid to dress and detail at the expense of humanity. Even the house seemed to epitomise their faults. Old-fashioned, cluttered and fussy, it grated on his nerves after the simple, clear-cut, modern lines of the furnishings he’d chosen for his own flat. He found himself wondering what Bethan’s taste was.

He’d picked out all their furniture, even their cooking utensils and linen, invariably settling on the aesthetically pleasing lines of art deco. He’d asked Bethan several times if she had a preference, but as she’d constantly deferred to him and his taste, he’d taken her at her word and gone ahead and selected what he wanted for his home. Just as his mother had selected everything for this one. Was there no happy medium in marriage?

‘ ... Have you any idea why he did it, darling?’

‘Why who did what?’ He stared at his mother blankly.

‘Bethan’s father hit the policeman, of course,’ she stressed irritably, lowering her voice as the maid came into the drawing room to announce that breakfast was waiting to be served in the dining room.

‘It was an accident. He was trying to hit a Blackshirt.’

‘Really, dear. Are you absolutely sure?’

‘Absolutely,’ he echoed as he followed her into the hall.

‘Andrew. Good to see you.’ His father pumped his hand up and down enthusiastically. ’Sorry about the circumstances and all that.’

‘Tea or coffee, darling.’

‘Coffee please.’

His mother reached for the silver coffee pot on the sideboard. It stood next to the silver teapot, sugar bowl and milk jug. He found himself appraising the silverware in a way that he had never done before. The muffin warmers, the butter dish, the cruet set, the hot-water jug, the trays, the spoons ... how much money did they represent? For years he had taken all of this –the house, his parents, their money, the servants –for granted. How worthless it all seemed now he was faced with his son’s death and Bethan’s grief.

‘Any chance of a job here?’ he asked his father casually as he picked up his coffee and sipped it.

‘What, here in Pontypridd?’

‘I can’t think of any other "here".’

‘I thought you were settled in London.’

‘I’m not.’

‘But it’s such a good opportunity for you. Working in the Cross with all those specialists and consultants. I would have given my eye teeth to have had the chance to do the same at your age.’

‘Perhaps I’m not ambitious.’

‘Bacon and kidneys, Andrew?’ His mother interrupted their conversation to push the hot dish towards him.

He shook his head.

‘Of course you’re ambitious. It’s poppycock to say you’re not. Every fellow wants to get on in life. Look, I know things aren’t going very well for you at the moment –’

Andrew burst out laughing. A harsh mirthless laughter as he pushed his clean plate aside. ‘Not going very well,’ he echoed. ‘My son dies ...’

‘It’s not as if it wasn’t expected, or a blessing,’ his father retorted angrily, retreating from what he sensed could become an “emotional’ scene”. ‘You’re young. You can have others.’

‘Having babies isn’t quite like having puppies, you know. Besides, it must be obvious to everyone with eyes in their head that my marriage isn’t exactly what you’d call “up to the mark".’

His parents exchanged telling looks and his mother reached out and placed her hand over his. ‘We know, darling, believe me we know, but we warned you against marrying Bethan. It was obvious from the start that the two of you simply weren’t suited. But it’s not the end of the world,’ she consoled him. ‘You can divorce her. After all, this is the 1930’s not the dark ages. No one thinks that badly of divorced people any more. You only have to read the papers. It happens in the best of families nowadays, even Royalty.’

‘But not mine if I can help it,’ he snapped. ‘Well, Dad, is there any chance of a job?’

‘Posts are always available in Pontypridd and the valleys, you know that,’ his father replied testily. ‘Doctors aren’t exactly queuing up to work here. The junior working with Trevor at the moment is taking up a position in Cardiff Infirmary next month.’

‘‘Then you’ll put in a word for me?’

‘Andrew, really, it’s what you were doing before you went to London. Four pounds a week in the hospital and whatever you can pick up from your share of the penny-a- week patients. You could do much better.’’

‘It’s how you started out.’

‘Yes and look at me now. Senior Medical Officer in a Welsh backwater.’

‘If you’d wanted better or different, why didn’t you try for it?’

‘My father was here, and I thought my roots were. I freely admit I should have never returned to the town after college. But the last thing I want is for you to repeat my mistakes.’

‘Suppose you let me run my own life.’

‘Andrew!’

‘Look, while we’re discussing business I know Granny left me money ...’

‘You and Fiona,’ his father broke in, wondering what was coming next. ‘We never made any secret of it. It’s invested, and the interest is added to the capital every year.’

‘How much is there, and how long would it take to cash?’

‘Why?’ his father asked suspiciously.

‘I want to buy a house.’

‘Here in Pontypridd?’ his mother said doubtfully. ‘But that’s such a final step.’

‘The Hawthorns is for sale. If you’re set on staying here I suppose that would do you.’ His father heaped more bacon and toast on to his plate. ‘Old Mrs Herbert died last month, and I happen to know that the family want a quick sale. You could probably get it for four hundred pounds.’

‘And it’s just down the road,’ Mrs John smiled brightly, determinedly making the best of a bad situation. ‘I could look out for Bethan, introduce her to all the right people, propose her for the Ladies’ Guild ...’

‘How much did Gran leave me then, Dad?’ Andrew asked, ignoring his mother’s projections of his and Bethan’s future. ‘Is there enough to buy a house?’

‘A great deal more, actually. Fifteen hundred pounds when I last looked.’

‘Can you arrange for me to have access to ...’ Andrew thought for a moment. ‘Six hundred.’

‘But the house will ...’

‘Will need furnishing,’ Andrew finished for his father. ‘And I’ll need to buy a car, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a bit in the bank. Oh, and I’ll probably need somewhere to store my things for a week or two when I give up the lease of the London flat. Can I use the rooms over the garage?’

‘If you must,’ his mother said. ‘But darling ...’

He looked at his watch. ‘Is that the time! I have to go.’

‘But you’ve only just got here,’ his mother protested.

‘Oh, and Dad could I have the second car for a couple of days? I borrowed Trevor’s to get here but he needs it.’

‘I suppose so,’ his father consented ungraciously.

‘Thank you. I’ll get Trevor to drive me up later to pick it up.’

‘Will you be staying?’ his mother asked hopefully as he left the table.

‘No, but thank you for the offer,’ he called back.

He left the house through the French window in the drawing room and walked across the garden to the garage. He glanced up at the rooms he’d occupied when he’d been at home. It seemed like half a lifetime ago. He had some growing up to do, and the sooner he began the better, for him and Bethan.

Andrew had to wait for Trevor to finish his rounds in the Graig Hospital before he could return to the Common to fetch his father’s car. As a result it was midday before he arrived back at Graig Avenue. For the first time he walked straight into the house and through to the back kitchen without knocking the front door. Charlie and William were nowhere to be seen, but Eddie was there, spooning tea into the pot.

‘Bethan’s upstairs,’ he said coldly when Andrew entered. ‘Diana’s with her. She’s not going into work today. Do you want tea?’ he asked gruffly.

‘Yes please,’ Andrew answered, chalking up another first. Eddie actually offering him something.

‘You didn’t see Phyllis Harry, did you, when you came up the hill?’

‘Phyllis Harry? Oh, the woman Bethan took in yesterday. I’m sorry, I’ve never met her.’

‘She’s disappeared,’ Eddie said as he poured boiling water on the tea. ‘I can’t find her anywhere. She would have been carrying her baby in a shawl,’ he added as an afterthought, forgetting that half the women on the Graig had babies of an age to be carried in shawls.

‘I didn’t see anyone on the hill,’ Andrew explained. ‘I drove up. I’ve borrowed a car.’

‘It must be nice to know people you can borrow things like that off,’ Eddie retorted nastily.

‘Well, if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll go and see Bethan.

Shall I take her up her tea?’

‘If you like. Tell Diana hers is poured down here.’

Andrew tapped quietly on the bedroom door before entering. Bethan and Diana were sitting side by side on the bed. Bethan had dressed Edmund in the suit Laura had given him and laid him out the night before. Now he was lying in a small white coffin placed on a trestle at the foot of the bed.

‘I’ve brought you some tea, Bethan,’ Andrew said, laying it down on the dressing table in front of her. ‘Eddie said to tell you that yours is ready downstairs, Diana.’

‘I’ll be back in a few minutes, Beth.’ Diana squeezed Bethan’s hand before leaving the room.

‘Bethan?’

She turned round slowly and faced him.

‘Bethan ...’

‘You do know what the headstone and grave you agreed to this morning will cost?’

‘A plot for three is always expensive,’ he said pointedly.

‘I haven’t any money, Andrew.’

He reached out and touched her arm, gratified that she didn’t shrug off his touch. ‘Now is not the time or place to sort out our problems. Can’t we just bury our dead –’ he looked down at the tiny body in the coffin –’and when it’s all over start again?’

The eyes that looked into his were cold and spent.

‘Please, Bethan.’

‘There’s nothing to start again, Andrew,’ she said indifferently. ‘Don’t you realise that?’

Andrew waited until she finished her tea, then he carried both cups downstairs. Diana passed him in the hall, and he remembered hearing the boys move around the night before. There was very little privacy in a house like this.

He laid the cups on the table, said goodbye to Eddie and left. As Bethan obviously didn’t want him near her, there really didn’t seem to be anything else for him to do. He climbed into his car, drove down the hill into town and parked in the police station yard. Both of his father’s cars were well known, so no one would question the presence of this one; merely assume that his father had taken his mother shopping.

Saturday was the busiest day of the week in Pontypridd. Like Wednesday, both the indoor and outdoor markets were open, and it was traditionally the day when the whole town shopped for Sunday, their one day of rest. He knew he was unlikely to run into any of his parents’ friends. The crache preferred to buy their fresh food on a Friday when only the indoor market was open. It gave them first choice of the goods on offer, they didn’t have to contend with Saturday’s crowds, and although there were fewer bargains to be had and prices were higher, they didn’t mind paying extra, for what they saw as better quality.

Andrew walked past the watchmaker’s, down Penuel Lane, through the fruit market, bypassing the haberdashery stalls, and into the butcher’s market.

Bethan had mentioned that the Russian managed a stall there. He looked around, searching for a sight of his blond hair.

‘After a bargain, Dr John? Seeing as how you’re almost family I can offer you a pound of rump steak at a knock-down price.’

William was standing behind one of the centre stalls watching him.

‘I was looking for Charlie,’ Andrew explained as he walked towards him.

‘He’s in his shop. He’s leased the one opposite the fruit market on the corner of Penuel Lane.’

‘Thanks. I’ll go there.’

‘Sure I can’t tempt you with that steak?’ William heaped a couple of bloody red pieces on to newspaper. ‘One and six a pound. Go on, treat yourself, you can afford it.’

‘I’d buy it if I thought you and Eddie would share it with me.’

William eyed him carefully. ‘We might at that if Diana cooks it.’

‘You’re on.’ Andrew dug in his pocket. ‘Put enough in there for Charlie and the girls as well. I’ll bring the beer.’

‘I’m sorry about little Edmund,’ William sympathised as he handed the parcel over. ‘He was a nice little fellow. Quite a character in his own way, especially when he had the hiccups.’

‘I’m glad he had you to care for him during his last weeks.’

Andrew walked away quickly not trusting himself to say any more.

He found the shop without any problems; the only wonder was that he hadn’t noticed it before, particularly as it had