Authors: Catrin Collier
‘Wish we could say the same,’ Eddie muttered audibly.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Dr Lewis, Dr John?’ Diana asked, pushing a brown curl back from her flushed face as she lifted the boiling kettle from the hot plate.
‘No thank you, Diana. I have to get back,’ Trevor answered.
‘On call?’ Andrew asked, grateful for the one presence in the room that wasn’t hostile.
‘No. But I was last night and I only managed to sleep an hour. I’m whacked.’
‘Who’s on call tonight?’ Andrew asked warily.
‘Your father. But as I’m nearer Bethan knows that she only has to send and I’ll come, whether I’m on duty or not.’
‘I’ve told Bethan I’ll stay.’
Trevor nodded.
Eddie stared at Andrew, dumbfounded. ‘You’re staying here?’
‘Just for tonight,’ Andrew said quietly. ‘That’s if it’s all right with everyone.’
‘We don’t count,’ Eddie snapped. ‘It’s Beth who matters.’
‘It’s Bethan I’m thinking of,’ Andrew retorted quickly.
‘Have you come straight here from London?’ Diana asked.
‘Yes.’
‘In that case you’ll be wanting more than a cup of tea.’
‘Tea will be fine, thank you. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘No trouble. Bethan didn’t eat her dinner. It will only take a moment to heat up.’
‘In that case, thank you.’ Andrew was too wary of offending to refuse the offer.
‘I’ll be off then. Remember, if you need me, send Eddie or William down. I’ll be easier to get hold of than your father,’ Trevor added tactfully.
Andrew followed Trevor and Eddie out into the passage. Eddie opened the door.
‘It’s good of you to keep calling in like this, Dr Lewis,’ Eddie said clumsily, donning the mantle of the man of the house again. ‘I know our Beth appreciates it.’
‘I just wish I could do more for the baby, Eddie.’
Trevor held out his hand and Eddie shook it.
‘I’ll walk you to the car.’ Andrew followed Trevor down the front steps. ‘Not exactly the warmest of welcomes,’ he murmured as Trevor opened the door of his car.
‘They know the baby is dying. As you saw, Bethan’s taking it badly, and that’s put all of them under a lot of strain. They’re all very fond of her,’ Trevor added superfluously.
‘I know,’ Andrew answered irritably. ‘What I can’t understand is with all of this going on, why Bethan had to take someone else in today.’
‘You don’t understand ...’ Trevor only just stopped himself from saying “us”. He hadn’t grown up on the Graig but in a poverty-stricken household in the dock area of Cardiff. He knew better than any of the crache in Pontypridd just why the working classes needed to offer and accept support. Why they clung together more in times of stress and trouble. But he didn’t know how to begin explaining it to Andrew.
‘I am trying to understand,’ Andrew protested.
‘I know.’ Trevor rubbed his eyes. He was so tired he was finding it difficult to focus. ‘But until you’ve gone through what these people have, it’s not easy. You will send for me?’
‘In the morning.’
‘Either your father or I will have to sign the certificate.’ Trevor climbed into his car. ‘I’m sorry, Andrew.’
‘I know.’ Andrew turned his back and climbed the steps into the cold, unwelcoming house.
The room swam alarmingly around Charlie as he bent his head to unlace his boots. He kicked them off, then lay back on his bed without undressing. It wasn’t just his arm that was throbbing, but also his head.
He felt sick, tired and ill, but not all of his sickness was due to the pain that emanated from his burnt hand. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alma. Her curt refusal to go to the hospital with him shouldn’t have made any difference. It wasn’t as if she was his ...
Red-gold hair, green eyes, tall slim figure –so many similarities to Masha, and yet so different in disposition. Masha.
A name he tried to forget, because the slightest whisper of it in his mind brought back the taste of her kisses, the feel of her body nestled close to him. Masha!
Gentle yet playful. Like a kitten that hasn’t yet learned to claw. Would she have turned into a shrew? Never. He smiled at the thought. Not his Masha.
“I love you, Feodor.”
She lay alongside him in the bed, the sheets and blankets billowing around their entwined bodies. Her head resting on his shoulder, her arms wrapped so tightly around his chest that he had difficulty breathing. He moved his finger over her arm, tracing on her skin the shadows that fell through the curtained window. She propped herself up on her elbows, and looked at him.
“It was more fun to be your mistress than your wife.”
The mischievous smile on her face begged for punishment. He reached out to tickle her, but she melted into his arms. He looked for her, called her name, begged her to return ...
The cry woke Andrew. He had pulled the two easy chairs together fronts facing, in the kitchen, taken off his jacket and overcoat, covered himself with them as best he could, put his feet up, and slept. He hadn’t meant to but the warmth of the stove, the aftermath of the tiresome journey, the strain of facing Bethan and his son, had all taken their toll. He tried to rise, got his long legs hopelessly tangled in the wooden arms of the chairs, and fell between the two seat cushions. Rising to his feet he slammed full force into the kitchen table, cursed and stood still for a moment trying to remember where he was.
He saw the line of light beneath the door. Graig Avenue! William had said he would leave the lamp burning.
He stumbled against a wooden chair as he tried to negotiate the furniture. He heard the second cry as he opened the passage door. It sounded as though it had come from the room directly to his left. As he tapped lightly on the door, the stair creaked overhead.
‘Are you all right?’ He tried to recall just who Bethan had said slept there. The lodger, Charlie?
He pushed open the door. Charlie was lying, stretched out on his bed fully clothed. His face was so white it blended with his pale hair, making him appear more phantom than living, breathing man.
‘I heard a noise. If your hand is giving you a lot of pain I have something in my bag that might help.’
Charlie opened his eyes wider in an effort to focus. ‘I’m fine, Dr John,’ he murmured unconvincingly.
Cold politeness again! Was that all he was ever going to get in this house?
‘It’s all right, Eddie. I just slept awkwardly. Rolled on my hand.’
Andrew glanced behind him. He started when he saw not only Eddie’s face but William’s inches away from his own.
‘If you’re sure you’re all right?’
‘I am, William,’ Charlie insisted. ‘Go back to bed.’ Andrew followed the boys out of the room but returned with his case a few moments later.
‘I can give you a pill that will help you to sleep.’
Too emotionally drained to argue, Charlie nodded assent. Andrew went into the kitchen. Unable to find a glass he took a cup from the dresser and walked out to the washhouse to fill it with water. When he returned Charlie was sitting on the side of the bed, his feet resting on the floor.
‘I wouldn’t think of going for a walk just yet if I were you.’ Andrew handed Charlie a pill and the cup of water. ‘If you like I could take a look at it.’
‘I have to go back to the hospital tomorrow to have it dressed again.’
‘Then it must be bad.’
‘It’s not good.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘I picked up a poker by the hot end.’
‘That seems a strange thing to do.’
‘Someone was waving it close to a woman’s face at the time.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s really none of my business.’
‘You’re not prying, and as it happened in Ronconi’s café the story will be all over town tomorrow, if not tonight. I’m sorry Dr John, I’m afraid I woke you.’
‘I wish someone other than Bethan in this house would call me Andrew,’ he said fervently as he sat on the chair in the bay. ‘And I’m not tired. Not anymore. I’m not even sure I was sleeping.’
‘Your son won’t live much longer.’ It was a simple statement, spoken sympathetically.
‘No, he won’t,’ Andrew agreed dully.
‘Bethan –’ Charlie took a crushed packet of Players cigarettes from his top pocket and offered Andrew one. To his amazement it was accepted –’has had a lot to do lately. Running this house, seeing to all of us, visiting her father in prison –’
‘I wanted to ask you about that,’ Andrew broke in quickly, hoping Charlie would answer the questions he hadn’t found the courage to ask Bethan, ’and about her mother. Has Elizabeth really moved out?’ He lit both their cigarettes, and Charlie sat forward, blowing smoke at the floor. ‘Please,’ Andrew pressed, hoping to find an ally in the Powell household. ’Bethan hasn’t written about any of this to me, and I can hardly ask her what has happened now. Before I even reached Pontypridd I was given the full story of Evan’s imprisonment. According to the gossips, that is,’ he added caustically.
‘Mrs Powell walked out the day Evan was sentenced to six months’ hard labour. Eddie found out that she’s living with her uncle in the Rhondda. She hasn’t been back here since she left. Neither has she answered any of Bethan’s letters.’
‘And Evan? He struck me as being very even tempered. I have difficulty imagining him doing anything that warranted a prison sentence, let alone hard labour.’
‘Evan and I went to a Mosley meeting,’ Charlie began. ‘You know Bethan’s father is a Communist?’
‘I suspected as much from what he told me.’
‘The ideology flourishes among people who have nothing to lose,’ Charlie said dispassionately.
‘You’re Russian, you’ve lived in a Communist country. I take your word for it.’ Andrew was left with the feeling that Charlie had said more than he’d understood, not only about Communism, but about his own history.
‘Evan went to the Mosley meeting along with a lot of other miners to put forward the unemployed’s point of view. Mosley brought his bodyguard. A fight broke out, Evan swung a punch, but unfortunately for him the Blackshirt it was intended to land on ducked, and a policeman got it on the nose.’
Andrew laughed in spite of the misery that had settled like a black cloud over him since he had reached Wales. ‘Good for Evan. Every time I see the newsreels I’d like to land a Blackshirt one myself.’
‘You’d probably feel differently if you were paying for the privilege with six months’ hard labour.’
‘I probably would,’ Andrew agreed soberly. ‘Has Evan appealed against his sentence?’
‘He pleaded guilty. A solicitor costs money.’
‘Why didn’t Bethan come to me?’
‘Perhaps she thought you had enough to worry about with the baby.’
‘How can I worry about the baby when she took him out of our flat to bring him here?’ Andrew paced uneasily to the empty fireplace.
‘Bethan always does what she thinks best, not for herself, but for others.’
‘You know her that well?’ Andrew looked Charlie keenly in the eye.
‘It’s difficult not to know someone well when you live in the same back kitchen.’
Andrew was suddenly jealous. Of Charlie, Eddie, William, Diana –of all the men –and women- who were closer to his wife than he was.
‘She’s a very special woman,’ Charlie said slowly, meeting Andrew’s steady gaze. ‘She has great inner strength, but that strength is being tested to the limit. She needs help ...’
‘Which you all give her.’
The irony wasn’t lost on Charlie. ‘When we can, and when she’ll accept it,’ he agreed cautiously. ‘But I’ve never known her to forget she’s married to you.’
‘Pity her devotion didn’t extend to sending for me herself when the baby became ill, instead of leaving it to Trevor.’
‘You’re here now. When it matters.’
‘But I can’t stay. My job, my apartment –everything’s in London.’
‘The one thing I’ve learned, Dr John –’
Andrew winced at hearing his surname yet again –
‘Is that places and work are unimportant. People you care about are the only things that matter in life.’
‘I’m sure you’re right. But I can’t leave my job just like that.’
‘It must be difficult, being a doctor.’
‘Sometimes it is.’
‘And it must be difficult being Bethan right now,’ Charlie continued perceptively. ‘Her father asked Eddie to keep the home going so he’d have something to come back to. She knows Eddie can’t possibly earn enough to pay all the bills on his own. That’s why she stayed.’
Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that? Without Evan bringing in any money, the Powells would probably lose this house. Bethan had told him that it was mortgaged. Perhaps she would have returned to him if things had been different here. If her father hadn’t gone to prison, if her mother had stayed, if her elder brother hadn’t been working away, if he hadn’t sent her money ...
Andrew heard the cry before Charlie, but then he’d been waiting for it. He rushed through the door and up the stairs. Eddie and William were already on the landing in their pyjamas, and Diana had opened her door. All of them were looking at Bethan as she stood in the open doorway of her bedroom. She was still holding the baby in her arms. But now his face was blue, the harsh rattling sound of laboured breathing finally quiet.
‘Bethan?’ Andrew called her name softly. A cold shiver ran down his spine as she looked through him as though he were invisible. Eddie stepped between them, held out his arms and she went to him.
Trevor took a death certificate from his bag on the back seat of the car, filled in the details, signed it and handed it to Andrew who was sitting in the front seat of the car alongside him. ‘Has the undertaker been?’
‘William’s gone to get him. There didn’t seem much point in disturbing him last night.’
‘They’re used to it ...’
‘What are you saying, Trevor? That it will be better when we put the baby in a box, out of sight and out of mind?’ Andrew thrust open the passenger door of the car and walked up the street towards the mountain.
Trevor waited a moment, and when Andrew didn’t turn back, he climbed out. Buttoning his mac to his chin to protect himself from the downpour, he followed. His friend hadn’t gone far. He’d walked past the houses, up the hill, past a levelled plot where a community club was being built, and was walking blindly along a narrow sheep track that led to the top of the mountain.
Fighting his instinct to retreat, Trevor caught up with him close to the summit.
‘I want to help,’ Trevor put his hand on Andrew’s shoulder. ‘Will you let me?’
When Andrew turned round his face was wet, but only from the rain. His eyes were wild, dry, burning in their intensity. ‘I’m sorry. I just had to get away for a moment.’
‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me.’
‘Perhaps that’s the problem. I don’t have to justify myself or my actions to anyone. Not you, not Bethan ...’
‘Bethan cares.’
‘Not anymore.’
‘Not at the moment, perhaps,’ Trevor conceded, ‘but she will again. There’s too much between you for it to be otherwise.’
‘I have a lot of things to do,’ Andrew said flatly, ‘I have to discuss things with the undertaker- when he gets here, telephone London, see my parents ...’
‘Would a car help?’ Trevor asked.
‘Doctors on call need them.’
‘I’ll be in the hospital at nine. You can have it for a couple of hours then.’
‘Thank you.’ Andrew reached out and clasped Trevor’s arm. ‘You’ve been a good friend, even when I’ve been a bloody fool.’
‘Bethan does need you,’ Trevor insisted as they began their descent. When Andrew didn’t answer he felt like shaking him. But Bethan had asked him to keep her secret and he had to respect her confidence, though he hated himself for doing so. ‘You’re right, Andrew,’ he agreed as they walked into Graig Avenue.
‘In what way?’
‘There are times when you’re a bloody fool.’
Careful to keep one step ahead of the patrolling policemen, Phyllis walked the side-streets around the workhouse. Up and down Grover Street, up and down Kirkhouse Street, all the time nursing her son in her arms. Eventually dawn would have to break. And then she’d do what she should have done when the bailiffs had knocked on Rhiannon’s door the day before.
She’d heard what Dr John had said about Bethan taking her in. She’d been putting her son to bed, and after he’d slept she’d cried herself to sleep, but not for long.
She’d been awake when Charlie had shouted out in his sleep, she’d heard Bethan call Eddie, and afterwards she’d listened while Diana and Bethan had cried in Bethan’s bedroom. It was then that she’d packed her son’s best clothes and favourite rag dolls into a pillowcase.
If she stayed in Graig Avenue she’d focus gossip on Evan’s family and she couldn’t bear the thought of doing anything that would hurt him. But as she paced the cold, inhospitable streets, she wished with all her heart that there was somewhere for her and her son to go other than the workhouse.
‘I’ve cooked all the meat that was here. I followed the recipe books, and it looks all right. But I haven’t tasted any of it.’ Alma stood back, feeling doubtful, as Charlie inspected the hams, pork legs and sides of beef she’d roasted. ‘William said something about doing pies and pastries ...’ she began, taking his silence as an ominous sign of disapproval.
‘These look all right.’ He slid a clean skewer into the beef and withdrew it slowly, prodding the area around the hole with the forefinger of his unbandaged hand to check the colour of the juices as they ran out. ‘We’ll find out what they taste like when they cool and we slice them.’