Such Sweet Sorrow (9 page)

‘Trevor is planning on taking her for a bumpy ride in his car up Graigwen Hill to Llanwonno and back. He asked if you’d be around if he needed a midwife.’

‘Of course I will.’

‘Tea, Andrew?’ Phyllis asked.

‘Have I got time?’ He looked at Bethan.

‘All the time in the world, but if Trevor telephones to say they need me when we get home, it means you’re going to have to take over your daughter.’

‘Any time.’ He tickled Rachel’s toes. ‘Yes please, Phyllis, now that no one wants me to do anything for five minutes, tea would be wonderful.’ He sank down on the chair opposite Megan. ‘You don’t have to worry about the boys, they’ll be all right,’ he said, reading the look on her face.

‘I wish I had your confidence.’

‘Don’t forget they’ve got Eddie waiting in the regiment to look after them, and,’ he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, ‘no Nazi in his right mind will go near that one.’

Everyone burst out laughing. Eddie had knocked out Andrew when he’d been courting Bethan.

‘More tea?’ Phyllis asked Tina and William.

‘No, thank you,’ Tina answered. ‘It’s time we were on our way.’

‘You’ll let us know what happens?’ Bethan asked.

‘If I live,’ William replied as he and Tina went out.

Constable Huw Davies plodded slowly up the Graig hill. The standard, police-issue blackout torch dangled unlit in his hand. He’d been walking the beat in Pontypridd for close on twenty-five years, and knew every lamp-post, every pothole and every loose paving slab.

As he drew alongside the shops in High Street he checked the windows for small yellow lines that might signal an infringement of lighting regulations. He liked to do the rounds ahead of the duty ARP wardens; they thought nothing of reporting the tiniest ray escaping from a scratch in the line of black paint most of the householders had edged their panes with, whereas he found a warning was generally more than enough to black out a house whose occupants would be hard-pressed to find the twenty-two-shilling-plus fine the magistrates invariably imposed. As he reached the first shop he tested the lock. He had found the tobacconist’s door open once, and two wide boys from Treforest hiding under the counter. He was kind-hearted, but not gullible, and the cock and bull story they had told him about searching for a lost cat had hastened their appearance before the town magistrate.

Satisfied that everything was sound and secure he went whistling on his way.

Diana heard her uncle’s whistle and drew comfort from the familiar sound. She was curled into a corner behind the counter of the sweet shop, her back to the shelves, an untouched pastie from Ronconi’s in front of her. She looked down at the book in her hand and turned the page. She hadn’t a clue what the book was about or even why she was going through the motions of pretending to read it. She couldn’t remember a single word on the page she’d flipped over, but hiding away was better than facing people, even kind, well-meaning ones like her mother and brother. How could she even begin to explain to them that her life was over? That she’d forfeited all right to happiness and a normal life; that she’d brought nothing but shame down on to the head of everyone who’d ever loved her.

Chapter Five

William’s nerves were stretched to breaking point by the time he and Tina had negotiated the short cut between Illtyd Street and Danycoedcae Road. He tripped over the kerb as he left the rough ground for the street, and, in putting his hands out to save his clothes, managed to ingrain his palms with gravel and coat his fingers with thick, sticky mud.

‘Just practising my grovelling,’ he said as Tina accidentally walked into him.

‘From my point of view I’d rather you did it in the light.’

He hauled himself to his feet, only just resisting the temptation to wipe his hands on his trousers. ‘I suppose you’ll expect me to wash before I shake your father’s hand?’

‘It might be an idea.’ Now that they were drawing close to her house, he could detect traces of nervousness in her voice that matched his own. He hung back, holding his hands stiffly away from his clothes as she opened her front door. He tried to remember what Eddie had said about his most fearsome boxing opponents: ‘They’re only men. Like us they put their vests on over their heads, haul their trousers over their bums and unbutton their braces to go to the ty bach.’ Crude but effective.

‘Are you going to stand there all night?’ Tina’s voice was muffled by the inevitable blackout.

‘You’d better switch off the passage light and hold back the curtain, I don’t want to get it dirty.’

‘I haven’t switched the light on. It’s us – Tina and William,’ she shouted. ‘William’s coming through to the back, he fell over and needs to wash his hands.’

‘Now they’ll think I’m clumsy as well as stupid.’

‘No one thinks you’re stupid,’ she retorted irritably as she closed the door.

‘Yes we do,’ came a disembodied chorus of voices.

Tina switched on the light. Sitting on the stairs were her two youngest brothers, Alfredo and Roberto, in front of them her three younger sisters, Theresa, Stephania and Maria, and all of them were staring at William with critical, dark eyes.

‘Only a stupid man would moon over a girl like you,’ twelve-year-old Alfredo declared flatly.

Wyn Rees waited until the main film had run for ten minutes after the interval before closing his confectionery booth in the New Theatre. He checked the money in the till, separating the takings from the float which would be returned to the cash drawer the following morning. Bagging the coins into two canvas bags he pocketed them, then scanned his depleted shelves. His stock was running pitifully low. Two more nights at this rate of sale and he’d have nothing left, and no means of replacing it. Life was so unfair. It had been a struggle to keep the business ticking over during the depression, then, just as the pits had reopened putting money back into the miners’ pockets and increasing trade levels, the war had to break, bringing a rationing that threatened to bankrupt him if he didn’t diversify into something else – and soon.

The question was, what to sell that wasn’t rationed? It was a problem that was beginning to preoccupy not only him, but every trader in Pontypridd. He glanced at the half-empty boxes that were left. He may as well go up to the shop in High Street now, and check on what remained rather than leave it until the morning.

After locking the kiosk he walked around the corner to the Old Tram Road where he had parked his van. Was there really any point in shuttling stock between the two shops? Perhaps it would be as well to wait until one or the other ran out, and close that one first. Then, with only one shop to run, there was nothing to stop him handing it over to Diana’s care and joining up. The thought was an attractive one. Life with his increasingly cantankerous father and put-upon sister was no picnic, and he’d have the dubious consolation of doing something for his country if he was in the army. But he had the niggling feeling that army life would be even worse than civilian for a man like him.

Straining his eyes into the darkness, he drove the short distance to High Street. Why did night always bring memories of his friend who had gassed himself? Was death like this, a conscious darkness? Or did suicides writhe in a specially constructed, torturous hell reserved for self-murderers as the officiating minister at the funeral had assured the mourners? He didn’t want to believe it. His friend had encountered enough of a hell on earth from his unforgiving father and the people of Pontypridd without burning after death. If there was a God, and sometimes he wondered, wherever his lover was, he’d be at peace.

He pulled up outside the shop in High Street, left the van, and unlocked the door. To his amazement, light flooded out when he pushed back the curtain.

‘Diana?’ he called out uncertainly as he pulled-the curtain swiftly over the door. He stepped inside looking for signs of a burglary.

‘I’m here, Wyn.’

He looked over the counter, watching as she struggled to her feet.

‘What are you doing here at this time of night?’

‘Nothing.’ Averting her eyes, she went to the stockroom to get her coat.

He glanced at the floor where she’d been sitting and saw the pastie and book. ‘It didn’t work out between you and Tony, then?’

She left the stockroom in tears. He embraced her clumsily, pulling her head down on to his chest. ‘It’s not the end of the world. You’ve been through worse than this and survived. Come on, you’re frozen stiff. Put your coat on and I’ll take you home.’

‘No!’ she protested forcefully, between harsh, rasping sobs.

‘You can’t sleep here, you’ll catch your death of cold.’ Taking her coat from her, he wrapped it around her shoulders. Forgetting the stock he’d intended to ferry down to the other shop he led her to the door.

‘I won’t go home …’

‘I’ll take you somewhere else.’

‘I’m not going to your house.’

‘No.’ He smiled at the thought of what his father might say if he brought Diana in her present state into the house. ‘We’re going for a drive to give you a chance to pull yourself together, then I’m going to buy you supper.’

‘I can’t go anywhere looking like this.’ She rubbed her eyes with a grubby handkerchief she’d found in her coat pocket.

‘You can eat fish and chips in the van.’ He switched off the light and opened the door. ‘And I’m not taking no for an answer.’

The silence was intense enough to send buzzing noises through William’s head. Mr Ronconi sat at the head of the table; Mrs Ronconi closest to the range so she could serve everyone with ease. William had been placed at her right hand, Tina on her father’s left, and in between five pairs of round, black eyes stared solemnly over the edge of the table scrutinising William, while everyone crunched on the crackling of the leg of pork Mrs Ronconi had bought for the occasion. Aware of the sacrifice of the family’s ration coupons in his honour, William took as sparing a portion of the meat as Mrs Ronconi would allow.

Used to the banter around his uncle’s table, he found the silence imposed at mealtimes by Tina’s father, disconcerting.

‘More mashed potatoes, William?’

‘No, thank you,’ he replied politely, choking on nerves and a dry throat.

‘Mama’s mashed potatoes are very special.’ Tina handed the dish down the table with a sickly sweet smile. He obediently heaped spoonfuls he didn’t want on to his plate.

‘Gravy?’

He could quite cheerfully have taken the jug from Tina and poured it over her head.

‘No, thank you.’

‘You can’t eat potatoes dry.’ Theresa took the jug from Tina and splashed gravy on his plate until it overflowed on to his trousers. ‘I am sorry, I’ll mop it up.’

‘I’ll do it.’ Tina ran out of the back kitchen into the wash-house and fetched a tea towel.

‘Tina!’ Mr Ronconi’s warning voice boomed before her hand touched William’s trousers.

‘I’ll do it.’ William took the towel from Tina, laid it over the puddle of gravy on his lap and hobbled out to the stone sink. He ran the tap and dabbed at the stain, wondering what he was doing in the Ronconis’, apart from getting thoroughly embarrassed. He should have kissed Tina goodbye and cleared off to the Guards, then when the war was over he could have come back and married her. Just like that. No poncing about with permission and family inspections. Just a quick ceremony in a registry office and a long honeymoon.

‘You all right, William?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Ronconi, but I think this stain needs a little more cold water.’

Leaning on the sink he breathed in deeply, as the old man left the wash-house. For some peculiar reason he felt as though he’d had a close call. As though Tina’s father had been able to read his thoughts – about the honeymoon.

‘You see, no people.’ Wyn jammed on the handbrake and reached in the back of the van for the two newspaper-wrapped parcels. Both were warm and appetisingly fragrant with the vinegary, mouth-watering smell of freshly-fried fish and chips.

‘It seems darker up here than it does in the town,’ Diana murmured. Wyn had driven up to the Common. Somewhere below them, unseen and unlit, Pontypridd was going about its blacked-out life, so very different from its late evening life of a year ago played out beneath ribbons of street and house lights.

‘This is what it must have been like for whoever dragged the standing stones and rocking stone up here.’ Wyn handed her one of the parcels. ‘Perhaps they waited until this time of night to sacrifice to their gods. Can’t you just imagine it? A circle of people holding flaming torches while the priest stretched the victim out on the rocking stone, lifted the knife …’

‘Andrew said the circle’s not old enough to be druidic.’

‘There goes another of my illusions about the town’s history.’

‘Even if it were true, people should have more sense than to creep around a deserted common in the middle of the night.’

‘You don’t like the dark?’

‘No.’ She shuddered despite the reassuring bulk of Wyn’s presence. ‘I feel that there’s a huge black hole watching and waiting to swallow us up down there. One turn of the wheel, and we’ll go crashing into it.’

‘Holes don’t watch and wait.’ He unwrapped his fish and chips and started eating. ‘But then, I like the dark. I always have. Mind you, I can’t remember being in anything quite this black since I used to hide in the coal hole when I was a kid.’

‘You hid in the coal hole? Whatever from?’

‘Myself, I think. I started crawling in there when my mother was dying. I tried to tell myself that everything would be all right as long as I stayed in there. That she’d get out of bed and come looking for me, and when she did, she’d be well, happy and smiling, which was how I wanted her to be. Stupid, really.’

‘That’s not stupid. When Will and I were small and my mother used to cry because my father wasn’t there, we made up a story about him. That he hadn’t been killed at all, but he’d lost his memory and when he remembered who he was he’d come back. One night my mother overheard us talking. The following morning she explained that his body had been accounted for and buried. That there was no hope, that all we had of our father, all we’d ever have, was his photograph. You were lucky.’ She peeled back the newspaper on her parcel of fish and chips. ‘At least you can remember your mother.’

‘Only to miss her all the more when she had gone.’

‘Mam says you can’t build your life around what might have been, just get on with what you’ve got.’

‘She’s right.’

‘Right, maybe, but it’s damned hard sometimes.’

Knowing she was regretting the loss of Tony, he put his hand over hers. ‘I think I know how you feel.’

‘How can you?’ she burst out angrily. ‘I loved Tony. I’ll always love him, and now there’s nothing left. I can’t even dream about meeting someone else. Even if I could find a man who’d forgive me for what Ben Springer did, no man would want a woman who couldn’t stand him near her. And I can’t … I really can’t bear the thought of a man coming near me ever again …’

Abandoning his fish and chips on the bench seat, he held her in his arms. Her chips had tumbled on to the seat between them; he could feel warm, sticky grease oozing through his trousers. ‘I know what it is to love someone and lose them, Diana. And I couldn’t even go to his funeral.’

It was the first time Wyn had ever mentioned his private life to her. Struggling to regain control of her emotions, she drew the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping away her tears.

‘You remember the boy who gassed himself over in Pwllgwaun a month ago?’

‘It said in the
Observer
that he was depressed at being out of work.’

‘His father’s on the council, so they didn’t print the truth. The police caught him.’

‘Caught him?’

‘With another man.’

She sat back, not knowing what to say. Although she was aware of the names Wyn was called, she had never really considered what being ‘a queer’ meant. In a few words he had painted a picture of his personal life which shocked her to the core. Not the fact that he had loved, or could love, another man, but the persecution that would follow if anyone in authority found out.

‘You really … loved him?’ It seemed odd to use the word in conjunction with two men.

‘I loved him,’ he reiterated bitterly. ‘Not that it did either of us any good.’

‘But you said he was with another man. If he loved you, why was he with someone else?’

‘It’s not as easy for us as it is for you. You meet a boy, you start courting, you go for walks in the park, sit side by side in the pictures, go to a café and no one will bat an eyelid. We have to sneak around in the hope that no one will notice us. The police stopped my van a couple of times when he was in it. They told his father, and he warned him to stay away from me. He threatened that if he didn’t, he’d make sure the police picked both of us up. That we’d be dragged through the courts. The last thing either of us could afford to risk was a prison sentence. Apart from what the scandal would do to our families, they don’t treat our kind very well behind bars.’

‘I didn’t realise, Wyn. I’m sorry …’

‘So am I. You’ve managed to spread your fish and chips all over me, and I can’t even see to scrape it up.’

‘You’ve got a torch?’

‘Front pocket. Make sure you hold the tissue paper over the lens.’

It took five minutes to return all of Diana’s fish and chips to the newspaper. She used the time to regain control of her emotions. Wyn had made her realise just how selfish she was being. She wasn’t the only one with problems. Her mother couldn’t be finding the adjustment to freedom easy after years of harsh, regimented life in prison. William was leaving Pontypridd to go heavens only knew where, and having to abandon Tina. Wyn was living on a knife-edge of respectability, an edge he could tumble from at any moment. Her mother, Tina, Will, Wyn – they all had reason to be as miserable as her. Maybe she could help them if she stopped wallowing in her own misery.