A Silver Lining (35 page)

CHARLIE’S COOKED MEATS

painted in foot-high blue letters over the doors and window. He peered inside. It looked bright and clean and new. There was a small queue of customers at the counter. He pushed open the door and an attractive girl with bright, red-gold hair looked up from the till.

‘Is Charlie here?’ he asked.

She apologised to the woman she was serving and lifted the latch on a half-door set into the counter. ‘He’s in the kitchen, if you’d like to go through.’ She opened a door in the back wall. ‘It’s Dr John, isn’t it?’

‘I wish I knew everyone in Pontypridd who seems to know me.’

‘I’m very sorry about your baby, Dr John.’

‘Thank you,’ he said awkwardly, feeling that Bethan should be receiving the condolences, not him.

In the kitchen Charlie was removing slices of beef from a cool cupboard on to a plate. As he was using only one hand it was long, slow work.

‘You said last night that you had to go up to the cottage today to have your hand dressed. As it happens, I have to go that way so I wondered if you’d like a lift.’

‘I went there first thing this morning.’ Charlie turned to face Andrew as he spoke. He looked ghastly, even paler than usual.

‘That isn’t really why I called. I’d like to talk to you about Evan Powell if I may. It won’t take long, only about half an hour.’

‘I’ll see if Alma can manage without me.’ He checked that his collar was fastened and opened the door. Andrew heard him speaking to Alma through the hubbub of conversation in the shop. Then he returned.

‘As long as it is only half an hour,’ he said. ‘We seem to be busy.’

‘Business is good.’

‘Too early to say. We only opened today.’ Andrew waited until he and Charlie were alone again before continuing.

‘What you told me last night about Evan. Would you be prepared to sign a statement in a solicitor’s office to that effect?’

‘Of course. It’s the truth.’

‘Did anyone else see that Evan was aiming to hit a Blackshirt?’

‘Plenty.’

‘Then why weren’t they called to court?’

‘The police were expecting trouble. They convened the magistrates’ court at six in the morning. There wouldn’t have been any time to call witnesses. Besides, Evan didn’t want to incur any costs, so he pleaded guilty. All the magistrate had to do was sentence him.’

‘He didn’t even plead extenuating circumstances?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Then would you mind if we called into Spickett’s the solicitors? They’re not far, only in Gelliwastad Road. I thought about it last night. There’s a possibility that we may be able to get Evan out of gaol before he serves his full sentence.’

Charlie looked at him, wondering if they had all misjudged Bethan’s husband. ’Bethan’s going to need him,’ Andrew said as Charlie opened the back door of the shop. ‘Now more than ever.’

‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust ...’

To the disgust of Elizabeth and John Joseph Bull, who’d made a point of writing to Bethan to announce that they would be attending Edmund’s funeral, Andrew had engaged the Anglican vicar, Tony Price, to conduct the service. Andrew had settled on Tony Price because Trevor had said he was a kindly and humane man, and because he couldn’t have borne one of the hellfire and damnation services that John Joseph Bull was notorious for conducting, any more than he could have withstood one of the genteel Anglican services his mother was so enamoured of.

Organising the funeral had been a nightmare. Bethan was adamant that she wanted to attend the actual interment, breaking the sacrosanct “men only, women in the house” Welsh tradition. She’d also refused to have any food in the house, which meant that any women who wanted to pay their respects had to do so at the graveside or not at all. Elizabeth had been so appalled that she’d actually visited the house she’d sworn never to enter again in an effort to persuade Bethan to change her mind about having a “funeral tea”, but Bethan, to Andrew’s admiration, had refused to be swayed.

She hadn’t even needed his support to face her mother, something he had mixed feelings about. Since Edmund’s death he’d spent all of his days in Graig Avenue, and his nights close by in Trevor’s house, in the vain hope that she would turn to him for comfort, instead of to her family.

She was standing opposite him now, flanked by her brothers and her father who’d been allowed out of prison for the occasion.

Between them lay the open grave, a deep chasm that seemed to emphasise the depth and finality of their estrangement: He looked down at the small white coffin nestling in its depths and shivered despite the warm spring sunshine. It looked smaller than ever at the bottom of the dark pit, its surface overshadowed by two very separate wreaths. Bethan’s simple posy of small white rosebuds set against a background of blue forget-me-nets made his expensive wreath of waxy-looking, trumpet shaped lilies and overblown red roses appear vulgar and crass.

‘In hope of the life everlasting ...’

He had been right about his wife needing her father.

Evan’s arm was wrapped around her shoulder. Haydn, who’d handed his role over to his understudy for one night to be with his sister, held on to her right hand.

Eddie was standing on her left, next to his father and close to William and Diana.

He wished he could see Bethan’s face beneath the thick veil she was wearing. Take some of her grief and burden himself with it. If only they were alone ...

‘Thank you, Reverend, a most moving service.’

It was over. Evan was thanking the vicar while looking at Andrew, making him feel guilty for neglecting yet another duty.

‘Andrew, we’ll see you later?’ His mother, dry-eyed, tight-lipped, tapped his arm. His father, resplendent in his dark made-to-measure suit alongside her. His uncles, his aunts, his cousins, even the Llewellyn-Joneses – all here to mourn a child they had never known, because it was the “right thing to do”; and across the other side of the grave from them, Bethan’s family and friends, Laura, Trevor and Charlie firmly fixed among them.

The separate halves of Pontypridd had come together at the graveside of a child who should have belonged to both worlds, yet even here they couldn’t mix. Each stuck rigidly to its own side of the grave.

And Eddie, big, tough, “take on and fight the world Eddie”, clutching a teddy bear Bethan had bought for the baby; holding it so tight he virtually wrenched an arm from its body before throwing it into the grave.

‘So sorry, Andrew.’

‘So sorry’ ... Handshakes ... ‘So sorry ... So sorry ...’

Expressions of sympathy, but only from his own family and friends. Nothing from Bethan’s side. Then his mother actually bridged the gulf, going over to Bethan.

‘So sorry ...’

Weren’t there any other words in the English language?

‘You and Andrew must come and dine with us soon.’

Bethan nodded her head without answering. Elizabeth moved closer, standing next to the tall, impressive figure of John Joseph Bull.

Taking his courage in his hands, Andrew walked over to Bethan.

‘I’ll take you back. There’s room for four, five at a push, in the car,’ he said, looking at Eddie and Haydn.

Evan pushed Bethan gently towards Andrew.

‘Go with him, love. I’ll see you soon, and I’ll be thinking of you.’ It was only then that Andrew saw the uniformed warder standing at a discreet distance behind the funeral party. Evan stepped back and Elizabeth stepped forward.

‘My sympathies and condolences, Bethan.’

There were other words in the English language after all.

‘And mine.’ John Joseph Bull extended his hand to his great-niece. ‘But God’s will be done. He finds ways of punishing the sinners and –’

‘Excuse us.’ Wrapping his arm round Bethan’s shoulders, which were still warm from the weight of Evan’s hand, Andrew led her down the long path to the cemetery gates and the car; Haydn, Eddie, William and Diana following close behind them.

‘I’m not coming back, Evan.’ Elizabeth confronted her husband as he stood alongside the warder.

The prison officer tactfully retreated even deeper among the gravestones.

‘When I heard that you’d left the house I didn’t expect you to return,’ Evan said flatly.

‘That’s just as well. I’ve put up with as much as I can. Uncle John Joseph is going to try and get me a teaching situation. They now allow women with widow status to teach.’

‘Would it be more convenient for you if I died, Elizabeth?’ Evan asked drily.

‘As far as I’m concerned, Evan, you are dead.’ She took her uncle’s arm and followed Bethan, Andrew and the boys down the long straight path that cut across the graves to the gate.

‘Ready, Evan?’ the warder asked as the last of the party turned their backs on the open grave.

Evan saw the gravediggers waiting. ‘As I’ll ever be.’ He held out his wrists in expectation of the cuffs that had been removed as a special concession:

‘There’s no need for that,’ the man said. ‘You aren’t thinking of going anywhere are you?’

‘Not for a while,’ Evan agreed softly. ‘Not for a while.’

‘Andrew, you can’t leave Pontypridd. Not now!’ Trevor said hotly.

‘Just what are you thinking of?’ Laura demanded as she slammed a steak and kidney pudding down on the table. ’Bethan needs ...’

‘Bethan has her brothers and Diana.’

‘Brothers are no substitute for a husband. And don’t go all big-headed on me because I said that,’ Laura turned angrily on Trevor who was sitting quietly in his chair.

‘They’ll look after her, keep her busy, that’s what she needs right now. Charlie even asked her if she’d help out in the kitchen of his shop for a week or two until his hand heals.’

‘And you’re happy with that?’ Trevor asked, concerned for Bethan’s condition, which she obviously hadn’t seen fit to mention to Andrew.

‘Not entirely. But then she won’t be on her own, and they won’t let her do too much ...’

‘And what happens when Charlie doesn’t need her in the shop anymore? What then?’ Trevor asked.

‘Then,’ Andrew took the enormous serving spoon Trevor handed him and helped himself to a small portion of the pudding, ‘I hope to be back. All I have to do is work my notice in the Cross and sort out the flat.’

‘You’re coming back to Pontypridd for good?’

‘Yes.’

‘To the Graig or the Common?’ Laura demanded astutely.

‘What would you say if I said neither?’ he answered quietly.

For weeks after the funeral Bethan moved through her days like an automaton. She woke when the alarm went off on her bedside table, she called everyone in the house, she made breakfast, cooked, washed, cleaned, scarcely noticing that Eddie’s working days became shorter and shorter on the three days when she didn’t help out in Charlie’s shop.

Trevor Lewis had told everyone in the house to watch her, make sure she kept busy, but not enough to overtax herself. He made a point of calling in every day, as did Laura. And Laura took care to make sure that Bethan was never alone, not even for a minute. On the days Bethan stayed home, Eddie didn’t leave the house until Laura came. If it was Laura’s baking or washing day she took Bethan back down to her house with her –for “company”.

 It was Laura who persuaded Bethan to walk through the market with her for the first time two weeks after Edmund’s death, and it was Laura who confronted embarrassed neighbours who turned their backs or went into shops when they saw her and Bethan walking together, because they didn’t know quite what to say to a mother who’d lost a child who was “different”.

Laura occasionally took Bethan to Pontypridd Park in the afternoons. They sat on benches and watched the sons and daughters of the crache play tennis, or they walked to the cricket field, or the bandstand, or along the river, but by tacit agreement they never went near the children’s playground. That was perhaps the hardest thing of all for Laura, because she wanted a child so much. She would have liked nothing better than to discuss Bethan’s pregnancy, to find out what it felt like to give birth to your own child, but one glance at the look of anguish that never entirely left Bethan’s face was enough. So she stuck to ‘safe’ topics: Haydn’s career, Diana’s working life, economical recipes, and the doings of her various brothers and sisters. And she continued to invite Bethan into her tiny house after their outings, making her cups of tea, insisting that she wait until Trevor arrived so he could drive her up the remainder of the Graig Hill to Graig Avenue.

Attentions Bethan accepted, thanked them for, and always in the same chill monotone.

When Trevor drove Bethan up the hill he asked how she felt and tried to talk to her about the coming baby, but without success.

After he watched her get out of the car and walk up the steps to her house, he invariably drove away cursing Andrew, who had left Pontypridd the day after the funeral and not returned. Not even sending word of when he could be expected. Nothing, in over four weeks.

‘Hello, girl.’

‘Dad?’ Bethan whirled round, staring dumbfounded at her father standing in the washhouse doorway. ‘You’re here ... you ... how ... you haven’t ...’

‘No, love,’ he smiled, as he closed the door and sat in his chair. ‘I haven’t escaped. I’ve been back a couple of hours, and I’ve banked up the fire and made a nice pot of tea. Take off your hat and coat, and sit down. You look worn out.’

‘Oh Dad.’ Bethan flung her arms around his neck. Scalding hot tears fell from her eyes –the first she had shed since Edmund had died.

‘They let me out this morning. Bail, pending an appeal.’

‘I didn’t know you were appealing.’

‘Neither did I until Mr Spickett –’

‘The solicitor in Ponty?’

‘Engaged by and paid for by your husband, turned up yesterday afternoon to tell me that he’d arranged it all. Andrew even posted bail. Fifty pounds. Mr Spickett seems to think there’s a very good chance I won’t have to go back.’

‘Andrew never said a word to me.’ Bethan finally released her father and pulled the pins from her hat.

‘Perhaps he didn’t want to say anything in case it didn’t work out.’

‘That would be like Andrew,’ she agreed.

‘I have to report to the police every morning, but at least I’m home and I can work. Is Eddie out on the round?’