Digging Out (25 page)

I drop the knocker, my heart going wild. The door opens and it is Mam in a flowered dress I actually remember. Surely it can’t be the same dress, can it? She is smaller and thinner; her thick dark hair has gone gray. It is parted in the middle and the sides are held back with long grips. I take all of her in like I am a camera’s lens.

She smiles and says, “Alys. You’ve come.” The way she says my name feels like the hug she gives me when I dream of her. It’s what I wanted after they dug me out, longed for every day afterward when I was with Gram and not her. “He’ll be so happy to see you.”

I step forward and put my arms around her, hugging her frail body. Tentatively she returns my embrace.

“You look all grown-up, then, Alys. Come in, come in. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Walking into the small front hall, everything I left behind comes back: Mam’s tidiness, clean and spare, the wood floors mopped to a shine. I think of the mess of my own house, dishes in the sink, cereal boxes on the table, papers, manuscripts and newspapers everywhere. I follow her into the kitchen, where near the door sits the low table Da made. I notice the brown speckled lino he laid on the floor a million years ago is intact. The room is plain and the paint job faded, but the late-afternoon sun streams through the window, casting its warmth over everything. I can see Mam has already started to put together their supper, cutting up carrots and potatoes on the dark maple wood chopping block near the sink as the kettle simmers on the cooker.

We don’t speak at first. It is not exactly uncomfortable. It is the way I remember us. Mam goes about getting a bottle of milk from
the fridge, and her good teacups down from the cupboard above the stove, making me feel even more the guest. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a glass bottle and I remember the cold, cold milk. On the wall is a drawing I did when I was six, its colors faded and edges curled. It is a vase with six flowers, one flower for each of us in the family, every petal outlined in dark crayon. I’d been so proud of it. There is nothing else on the walls.

“Thank you for coming,” Mam says from her spot near the cupboards. “I know it’s far and terribly expensive.” She moves around gathering faded cloth serviettes and plates. She looks up and smiles at me. “He’s had a good day, today. You’ll see. He’s napping now. After a while we’ll go up. He likes to eat early. That’s why I’m already at it here.

“Last week he was only able to stay in his own bed. But this week he’s been staying the day in Parry’s room, because it’s warm. You remember how the sun heats it when the weather’s good? At night, he’s back in his own room. Evan hooked the telly up in Parry’s room. It makes it nice for Da.”

She brings the cups, milk pitcher and sugar bowl to the table, then returns to the cooker and pours the hot water, a little first to warm the pot, followed by four teaspoons of tea and the rest of the water.

“I remember,” she says, smiling. “You like it strong but milky.”

She seems tired. Wrung out. But Auntie Beryl is right. Even though she is still mostly all business, there is something softened round her edges, an acceptance. She brings the teapot to the table with a small plate of chocolate-covered digestive biscuits.

“How are you, Mam?” I ask, pressing, wanting to pull something more from her.

She looks up, teapot in hand. “Oh, I’m all right. Holding up, like, you know. Some days easier than others, I guess,” she sighs. “Glad to see you, I am. I was hoping you’d come. It’s been such a long time.” She smiles.

“It has,” I reply, wanting to hear her say how she has missed me, beginning to let myself feel how much I have missed her. But neither of us says anything. There is another of those awkward moments of silence between us. “I probably should have let you know I was coming.”

“Oh, I didn’t expect that. I’m just glad you’re here.”

As she sits down and pours the tea, I ask, “When did Da last see the doctor?”

“He came round yesterday. Said he’d stop back this evening. I was thinking it might be him at the door.”

“What did he say yesterday?”

“Blood pressure’s normal. Heart’s still beating good enough. He’s weak. All things we know. But he does seem better today.” She sounds hopeful. “Breathing is smoother. Not so raspy, like. And he’s not complained of any pain today, although he doesn’t have much of it anyway. That’s a good sign, I think. Don’t you?”

That seems a hard question to answer, assuming Da has emphysema or lung cancer, like all the rest of them who took ill and worked in the mine. In the old days, the term “black lung” used to cover it all. But I nod, sipping my tea. She’s made it just like she did when I was small.

“Good cup of tea,” I tell her.

Mam smiles and passes the biscuits.

Now I am waiting for her to ask me something about myself. Anything. About Dafydd. She must know about Marc’s death. I’m sure Beti would have said something. But Mam doesn’t say a word. Now it comes back to me that Auntie Beryl said she hadn’t mentioned Marc’s death to her. Now, instead of anger, I feel hurt. Does Mam still not care enough about me to ask how I might be doing since Marc’s death? We sit quietly in the kitchen and drink our tea as though I live down the road and have seen her only yesterday.

“The weather’s been good,” she says, then. “We haven’t had so much heat and sun in a summer for a long time.”

Why do I need more response than she can give? I am here for her. For Da. In the distance I hear a bell.

“That’s Da. I’ve given him Gram’s bell to ring me when he needs something. He’ll be wanting his dinner, which I’ve not finished making. Would you like to go? Give you a moment or two on your own with him, dear. I’ve told him I wrote to you. He won’t be completely taken off guard.”

“Okay, I’ll go up.” My neck and back suddenly stiffen as I pull myself from the chair.

“Tell him I’ll be up directly with his broth.”

How easily we seem to have fallen into our old roles. But it does feel a little different, as if somehow Mam needs me.

As I start out of the kitchen, I think of all that remains unsaid between us. When I was little, I wanted her to know what I felt—to hold me. Now I want her to make up for that lost time, to have really missed me and for me to feel it, to ask me about my life, my work, my family. To want to know me Perhaps the loss of Mam in my life is why I try so hard to be there for Hannah.

Before I start up the stairs, I turn back to the kitchen, peering in, my hand on the doorframe. “Mam.”

I surprise her. She looks up, concern in her eyes. “Oh, Alys, is anything wrong?”

“No. I just wanted to say that I’m awfully glad to see you.”

She smiles shyly, tilting her head. “Why, that’s just so nice of you to say, Alys. Thank you for telling me. You go on up now, dear.” She waves, turning back to the stove top. “I’ll be up in a moment, I will.”

Seventeen stairs up to the empty hall, and the worn carpet leading into Parry’s room As I place my hand on the knob I remember all the times I’d just burst into Parry’s room.
Don’t you knock?
he’d say.

“Da?” I say quietly. “It’s me, Alys.” I peek around the door so as not to startle him with an abrupt entrance.

“Alys?” he says. “My Alys?”

I stand for a moment just through the door, looking at the room, half expecting to see Parry. But there is nothing of Parry left except for the brightly patched comforter on the bed. The walls are bare, the desktop empty except for the small TV.

Da is propped up in Parry’s single bed on two pillows. I go over to the bed and put my hand on his covered feet, which are under the comforter. The room is hot. He struggles to pull himself toward me but it is too much for him, and he collapses back onto the pillow.

“Hello, Da,” I say, eyeing the oxygen tank next to him, my own breath coming with some difficulty now.

“Oh, my sweet Alys” He talks slowly, a lot of breath between each word. “How good of you to come all this way” He motions me to come closer. “Did you bring the little one I’ve heard so much about? Dafydd?” He slowly pulls his body so he is sitting and can see me more eye to eye. “I ‘spect he’s not so little now. I’d like to meet him, I would.” He takes a breath in. “Your gram went on about him endlessly, she did. And you’ve another one? Hannah?” Now he is breathless.

I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling as if I am holding back decades of tears. Although Da’s mind seems clear, his body is half what I remember, his high cheekbones jutting out, his complexion yellow-gray. My heart sinks—and then I see there is still some life shining in those strong steel blue eyes. Parry had those blue eyes and Beti, too. Mine are the flat drab brown of my mother’s eyes.

“Alys dear,” Da says. “Forgive me for not writing after your husband died. Marc. Each day now, I meant to.”

“Oh, Da, I’ve missed you,” I say suddenly. It surprises me; it seems a lot to say out loud. But I want to say more about all I have been through without him. I wish he’d known Marc, been there when Hannah was born, been able to see Dafydd and Hannah together. He has missed my life and I have missed him in it.

He puts his large, thin hand over mine. “I’ve missed you, Allie dear.”

I can hear the rasping in his chest. He closes his eyes and within seconds he is snoring. After a few moments, I gently pull my hand away. His eyelids flutter softly but don’t open. Through the window it is getting darker, the sun setting lower on the horizon.

I tiptoe out Parry’s door and take the last five steps up to my own room. I open the door carefully, remembering to lift and push so it doesn’t creak. It seems just as I’d left it. The books on the small shelf, my pillows on the bed, the small hook rug Gram made for me on the floor. On my dresser are photos of me and Parry as children.

I hug myself and start to cry, the silent sobs coming from the dead sea of my now open heart. Part of me wants to lie down on the bed and never get up.

Once my body stops shaking, I open the dresser drawers and see they are filled with Mam’s clothes. The long cupboard is filled with her housedresses and shoes, the spring smell of her enveloping me. This is her room now.

I hear the knocker go downstairs and I quietly close the closet door, switch off the light and make my way back down to Da.

At first it is an unfamiliar voice with Mam’s on the creaking stairs, but as they get closer, I recognize Doc Rogers. He looks older, of course, slightly bent, but there is the same comforting manner and cheerful smile I remember. Just after the disaster he came every day to see me, always with a kind word of encouragement. The last time I saw him was a few weeks before I left for the States.

I come out of my corner and put my hand out to him.

“After all these years, only a handshake, Alys?” He pulls me to him, putting his arms around me and giving me a tight hug. “How are you then, my little one? You’re looking beautiful as you always did, like.” He pets my cheek and looks at me straight on, smiling. “Come to see your old da, eh? Well let’s see how he’s faring tonight, shall we?”

Da pulls himself up in the bed and says brightly, “Fine, William. I’m feeling just fine, I am. How could I not?” He nods my way.

Doc Rogers takes his stethoscope out of his small black bag and sits down on the edge of Da’s bed.

“Oh, there’s the door again. Can’t remember when we’ve had such a crowd,” Mam says, slipping out and down the stairs. Moments later, I hear Evan’s voice on the stairs.

“You’ll never guess, Alys,” Mam says as she reenters the room, smiling wide in my direction. “It’s Evan.” She waits to see my reaction. I smile at Evan, guilty now for not having come straight here. Mam looks at me, then Evan, confused.

“This must be more than just a coincidence?” she asks.

Evan puts his head into the room. “Doc Rogers,” he says, shaking Doc’s hand. “How are you this evening, Da?” And then he nods at me. “I actually had the good fortune of running into Alys this afternoon.”

“Oh?” Mam asks.

“Well now, Arthur. What do you say we have a look at you?” Doc Rogers asks. “Won’t take but a few moments,” he tells us.

Mam leads us out. We stand at the top of the stairs, waiting.

“And how’ve you been, Evan?” she asks. “I haven’t seen you in a time, now.”

“Just fine, Rita. Isn’t it nice to have Alys back with us?”

She nods. She is distracted. Mam looks at the door. “What d’you think Doc’s looking for?”

Evan puts his hand on her arm. “Probably just wants a moment alone with him so he can have a close look. Nothing to worry about, Rita, I’m betting.” I am touched by the affection between them. He looks my way. “You okay, Alys?”

“I’m just a bit ragged.”

Mam leans against the wall looking worried. “He’s taking a
rather long time of it,” she says. “I hope nothing’s wrong.” As if everything had been just fine before Doc Rogers closed the door.

Another few moments pass while we all stand quietly looking at each other. I am uncomfortable in Evan’s presence and hope Mam didn’t take too much notice about my having met up with him first. Then the door slowly opens and Doc Rogers emerges.

“He’s just tired, is all. He’s slipped off to sleep. Do him the world of good, it will. Just leave him be. I gave him something light so he’ll sleep through the night. He should, anyway.” He puts his arm around Mam and looks at me. “How long are you in for, Allie?”

“About a week.”

“I’ll see you again, I ‘spect. And I’ll be looking forward to it, too.” He smiles and starts down the stairs. We follow. “Call me if you need me, Rita.”

When we are at the bottom of the stairs, Mam looks at us, her face full of worry.

“Evan, be a sweetheart and take Alys for supper, will you? I’ve suddenly not the strength to do too much more tonight.” She puts her hand over her eyes. Her shoulders hunch forward and she sighs. “I just don’t think I’m up to anything.”

“Mam, let me help.”

“No, no I’ll be all right, I will. After a little sleep myself, I’ll be fine.” She smiles at me sadly. “You understand. I’ll just go back up now, if you don’t mind, and have a few hours. I try to sleep when he does.” She nods, putting her hand on my cheek. “I’m glad you are here, Alys.”