Sara wandered down the aisle, stopping four rows from the front and shuffling sideways into the pew there.
‘I admire you,’ said Elizabeth, watching Sara take a seat. ‘Sacrificing something for the good of someone else.’
‘It’s what we’re all doing in the war, isn’t it?’
‘If only.’ Elizabeth massaged her temples. Recovering, she added, ‘Did you read that a passenger ship, the Ancona, was blown up near Sardinia by the Austrians? Men, women and children screaming and drowning in the water.’
‘That’s horrible.’ She tried not to picture the scene, but the screams filled her brain, like those made by some of the women in the village when their husbands or sons were killed in the pit.
‘You giving up the job for Sara isn’t about the war. Not everything is. There are many things to be protected, or fought for, besides peace.’
Like better wages for workers, thought Anwen, not daring to voice that sentiment to the manager’s daughter.
‘Have you heard of the Suffragettes?’ said Elizabeth.
‘I’ve read about them in the papers. Like Emily Davison throwing herself under a horse a couple of years back at the Derby.’
Elizabeth sighed, removing her gloves and placing them in one hand. ‘Most upsetting, for there are other things we can do. Have you ever been to a meeting?’
She could imagine what her father would have to say about that. She wasn’t sure what to make of the Suffragettes, or Suffragists, herself. Or indeed, what the difference was between them. ‘I didn’t know they met around here.’
‘They used to. They’re involved in war work now, for which some have moved away.’ She looked regretful.
Idris’s mother entered the chapel, his father in tow. ‘Bore da, Anwen. Good morning, Miss Meredith.’
Behind Isaiah were Idris and Jenkin. Anwen stiffened her body with determination. ‘Bore da,’ she intoned, the same time as Elizabeth.
‘And a lovely one it is, too,’ said Meg.
Lovely for some. But it wasn’t Meg’s fault Anwen felt the way she did. She smiled to make up for the uncharitable thought.
‘I’ll join Sara,’ said Elizabeth. She set off elegantly down the aisle in a blue velvet skirt with white buttons down the sides. Above the skirt was a thigh-length matching jacket.
Meg watched Miss Meredith too, continuing the conversation only after she’d sat down. ‘I was just saying to our Idris, there’s a concert here soon and I believe you’re singing in it.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Such a lovely voice you have.’ She patted Anwen’s arm, her mouth smiling but her eyes sad.
‘We’ll sit down,’ said Isaiah, taking Jenkin with him.
Meg followed on. Idris didn’t move for some moments. Anwen wanted to get away from this uncomfortable situation, but was rooted to the spot.
Finally Idris said, ‘I see you’ve already found other male company.’
He must be referring to Tom Meredith, she realised. A fury smouldered within her. He was twisting this around, as if his breaking off the engagement had somehow been her fault. As much as it broke her heart, it took all her willpower not to shout at Idris. How dare he! She was about to tell him that young Mr Meredith had simply been accompanying her back to the village, and about the housemaid’s position, but what came out in an exasperated tone was, ‘Well, Idris Hughes, it’s nothing to do with you anymore, is it?’
With that she proceeded down the aisle, back straight and neck stretched, trying to emulate Miss Elizabeth’s demeanour.
* * *
After chapel, Anwen made an early dinner of bits of cheap ham with some slightly dry bread. She and Sara ate it sitting around Mam’s dressing table. A combination of Madog’s absence and the bright winter sun brought Anwen to a decision. Sending Sara downstairs with the empty plates, she waited until she was out of earshot before confiding in her mother.
‘I was thinking, today might be a good one to get that new dress for Sara.’
‘Her old Sunday best is looking a little worn and frayed,’ Enid admitted. ‘You’re a good girl, going without your own fripperies to save up a bit.’
It hadn’t been easy, knowing how her father snooped round for money all the time. Keeping it in a little pouch she’d sewn on the inside of her skirt had been her only option. ‘It will only be second-hand at best, but Mrs Bowen assured me she had a couple of dresses that might fit her small frame.’
Enid shifted her hips back and forth, trying to get comfortable. ‘I wish I was in a position to make her something, or at least adjust an old dress, but sitting in bed doesn’t make that easy.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Mam. I wish I had the time, but at the moment…’
‘And sorry I am to the heart of me for that. When I think the clothes I used to make when you were younger. It were your mamgu, Cadi, what taught me.’
‘And lovely clothes you made, Mam.’ She didn’t want her mother to dwell on this, so changed the subject. ‘And I thought, we could walk up to Rhymney afterwards, have a trip out, if you don’t mind being left for the afternoon. It’s ages since we went out of the village. I think I have enough for that.’
Enid smiled. ‘It would be a splendid thing to lift Sara’s spirits, for she does seem even sadder than usual. Meg and Rachael said they’d visit today, so if I have any needs, they’ll help me.’
Sara came back up the stairs and entered the bedroom. ‘What are you two whispering about?’
‘We weren’t whispering, cariad,’ said Enid. ‘Anwen’s got a surprise for you.’
The younger girl clapped her hands together. ‘What is it?’
Anwen directed her towards the stairs once more. ‘Get your coat on and wait and see. ’Hwyl fawr, Mam.’
‘Bye bye, cariadon.’
Walking down Edward Street to Jubilee Green, Sara had tried to guess what they might be doing, but it wasn’t until they neared number eleven that she cried out, ‘Oh, Mrs Bowen’s! Is it clothes we’re looking at?’
‘A new Sunday dress for you.’ Anwen knocked on the door.
It wasn’t long before Mrs Bowen’s daughter, Amelia, answered and invited them inside.
Mrs Bowen was in the front room. Two rails of clothes dominated the space.
‘Come in, come in,’ said the seamstress, waving her arms. ‘I’m glad to see you could make it. Now, I’ve had a look, and I have three dresses in Sara’s size that might be… suitable.’
Anwen knew she meant that you can afford, having already told her what her budget was.
Mrs Bowen hung the dresses sideways on the rail to display them. Sara examined each in turn, her eyes wide. She spent most time on the peach dress, with the high neckline, nipped in waist and long, flowing skirt. It was a few years out of date, but still pretty.
‘Can I try them all on?’ she asked.
‘Of course you can. Amelia, show Miss Rhys up to the dressing room.’
Anwen looked through the rails as she and Mrs Bowen chatted.
‘It’s not easy for Amelia, of course,’ said the older woman. ‘Being left by her fiancé has taken its toll, poor girl.’
Anwen guessed that her hostess hadn’t heard of her own unfortunate circumstances.
When Sara appeared once more, she was carrying the peach dress. ‘I like this one best. And I was lucky that it did fit the best, too.’
‘I’d say it’s just the right shape for you. Let me wrap it up, fach.’
She went to take the frock from Sara, only for Anwen to intervene. ‘If you don’t mind, Mrs Bowen, Sara will wear it, so could you wrap the dress she has on instead?’
‘Of course. I see it could do with a bit of mending. I’ll buy it off you if you like. I’m sure I could make something from it. It won’t fetch much, but it’s better than nothing.’
‘Yes, we’ll do that, thank you.’ It would help towards the treat, especially if her father didn’t give her any more than the pittance he’d already offered for next week’s food.
On their way again, Sara started back up the hill.
‘No, we’re going this way.’ Anwen indicated downhill with her head. ‘Taking a walk to Rhymney, if you’re up to it.’
‘Oh yes. We haven’t been in a while. But what are we going to do there?’
‘It’s a surprise and a treat.’
‘Another one?’
‘Life’s been short enough of them recently.’ Anwen tried to look bright, but her expression must have given away her feelings.
Sara took hold of her arm and hugged it. ‘You could do with a treat too. It is very sad, what’s happened. About Idris, I mean.’
Anwen removed her arm in order to link it through Sara’s properly. ‘Let’s forget all our worries for now. Today’s going to be just for us.’
‘Yes, just for us,’ Sara repeated.
* * *
‘That’s a film I’d like to see.’ Sara pointed at the billboard as they passed the Imperial Cinema on Rhymney’s High Street.
Anwen turned to inspect the poster for Solambo. ‘It’s a shame the pictures don’t open on a Sunday. I read that it’s set in Carthage, two hundred years BC, when they were fighting the Romans.’
‘The Romans used to be in our country.’
Anwen chuckled. ‘That was a long time ago too, fach. I think they left about sixteen hundred years ago.’
‘I know that, but they’ve discovered lots of villas belonging to them recently. Like that one at Caerwent, and the one in Merthyr at Penydarren Park.’ She walked backwards to face Anwen, almost bouncing as she went along. ‘And that pavement they found in Gloucester last year. I so loved reading about their progress in the newspapers.’
‘Maybe we’ll try and come in next week, in the evening, to see the film,’ said Anwen. ‘For now, we’ve just got to keep walking down the High Street a bit.’
‘Where are we going? There aren’t any shops open.’
‘Apart from one.’ They walked for a couple of minutes more. ‘Here we are.’ Anwen pointed across the road.
‘Perilli Bros Refreshment House,’ Sara read, excited once more. ‘I’ve never been in there before.’ She examined the sign which read, Confectioner and Tobacconist. Ice Creams. ‘Don’t they get fined for opening on a Sunday?’
‘They do, regularly, according to Gwen. But she said the Italian cafés just pay up and stay open.’ She started to cross, then looked back over her shoulder. ‘Are you coming, then?’
A horse and cart came clattering down the road, causing Anwen to run to the other side.
Sara crossed over, grinning.
Anwen laughed. ‘Come on, I’ve been looking forward to this.’
Sara peered at the windows either side of the door. They were chockablock with jars of sweets, boxes and packets of chocolate, cigars and cigarettes.
When Anwen pushed the door open, her sister followed her in. The aroma of tobacco filled the air. To the right was a further room. It contained several tables with white cloths, condiments and small vases of greenery.
A middle-aged gentleman with tanned skin and salt-and-pepper hair came from behind the counter. Around his waist he wore a long white apron. He bowed slightly.
‘Signorine, how may I ’elp you?’
‘We’d like a table for two, please,’ said Anwen.
‘Certo. My daughter, Angelina, will show you to one.’
A young woman came forward. She had on a smart black dress with a white collar and cuffs, a short pinny with a small, nipped-in bib and a frilly white cap that covered just the front of her head. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun.
The sisters were seated near the back of the café, close to another counter. The waitress handed them each a menu.
‘We’ve got pressed beef and ox tongue on special today.’ Unlike her father, her accent was the same as theirs.
‘We’re just having tea and cake today, thank you,’ said Anwen.
‘The desserts are listed on the back. Can I get you some tea while you’re choosing?’
‘Ooh, yes please. I’m gasping,’ said Sara.
The waitress beamed at her. ‘Right away, madam.’
When she was out of earshot, Sara said, ‘Madam! I’ve never been called that before.’ She turned the menu over and read it. ‘I think I’m going to have some ice cream. Italians are meant to be very good at making it.’
‘I will too. It will be a little odd with tea, but never mind. Perhaps we should have had a soda fountain drink.’
‘Next time,’ said Sara. ‘Now I’m going to be working, I will save up some money so I can treat you.’ She returned her attention to the menu. ‘I’ll have a peach melba.’
Anwen looked at the choices. ‘Yes, that sounds nice. I’ll have that too.’
Sara took her hand and stroked it. ‘This is the best thing that’s happened to me all year.’
‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it.’ Anwen was sad to think her sister’s world had shrunk so much that this was the highlight, but she was happy to see her so cheerful for a change.
* * *
Anwen stirred the pot on the stove, content with the meal she’d been able to put together for supper. In the pot alongside the rabbit was the winter kale she’d found growing wild beyond the garden. On the hillside she’d picked chickweed, then found the bronzy-yellow velvet shank mushrooms in the small woods at the top. From Mr James the greengrocer she’d purchased two carrots, past their best but welcome all the same.
At twenty past six Anwen heard the front door close. By how quietly it was pushed to she guessed it was Sara.
‘Mm, that smells wonderful,’ said Sara, sniffing in deeply as she entered the kitchen. ‘Like Mam used to make before the war.’
‘How was your first day, cariad?’
Sara removed her coat, placing it over the chaise longue and taking a seat at the table. Her skin was pasty. ‘Tiring. I can’t have a rest when I need it, like here. I wish I could have worked in an office, typing. Lucy Ahern does that, in Merthyr. You can sit down all day doing that. Oh, I’m so sorry, Anwen. I know how much you wanted that job. You must think me so ungrateful.’
‘No, I quite understand. It’s not ideal. Maybe we could save up, a tiny bit each week, so when you’re older, you can go to college to learn. When the unions secure a decent wage for the miners and work’s more secure. When maybe women can do more jobs too, with better pay. If the Suffragettes get their way.’
‘Da said those women who go marching are off their nuts and are trying to overthrow the men.’
‘Do you believe that? Is it any different to the miners going on strike, like they did in July, during a war? They’re all fighting for what they’re entitled to.’
‘I suppose. I wish no one had to march or go on strike, that everyone was just treated with respect.’ Sara put her hands on the table, laying her face on them. ‘What would you like help with?’
‘Nothing. You rest. I’ve been in hours and got most things done.’ Maybe not most, but Sara didn’t need to worry.
‘Was Ma all right on her own?’
‘Violet popped in at dinner time to give her what I prepared this morning. Just bread and dripping, like the rest of us. This rabbit stew should fill a gap.’
Sara brightened at the mention of food. ‘I had some lovely tender ham with bread and butter at dinner time. What they call lunch. I feel bad about that.’
‘It’s good that you had it. Eat as much as you’re offered. With good food you’ll soon get bigger and healthier.’
‘Young Mr Meredith is very jolly, isn’t he?’
‘He is.’ The mention of his name gave a little lift to Anwen’s spirit. Idris used to be like that, before he enlisted.
‘I’ll go and see Mam,’ said Sara.
‘In that case, take her some food.’ She placed a ladleful of the bubbling stew into a large bowl.
‘It smells wonderful. Like childhood.’
The front door slammed, causing Sara to jump and drop the bowl on the floor. It sh
attered, spraying meat, vegetables and stock around a wide area.
‘Oh no.’ Sara panicked, trying to retrieve the pieces of crockery first.
‘Leave it. Go to the scullery. I’ll clear it up.’
‘No!’ Sara’s face was defiant. ‘You’ve done enough for me.’
Madog shoved the hall door open so fiercely it crashed against the wall.
‘What’s all the bloody noise?’ He strode in, swaying enough to have to grab a chair. He had a flour-sack bag in his hands, which he placed under the table. ‘What’s all this wasted food on the floor? Who bloody did this?’
‘I’m sorry—’ Anwen began.
‘It was me, Da,’ Sara interrupted. ‘It was hot and then the door made me jump—’
‘Clumsy bloody cow.’
His hand shot out, knocking Sara’s hair out of place as it came down with a resounding slap across her scalp. She screamed, falling towards the table, catching herself. Lifting his hand once more, he went in for a second time. Sara cowered over the table, covering her head with her hands.
Anwen was filled with fury. Her heart pounded as she lifted the small but heavy pan that lay to one side of the stove. With a brief shriek, she swung it with all her might towards her father, who had his back to her. The pan glanced off the side of his scalp, but it was enough to take him down.
She lowered the pan. Sara straightened herself. They both gaped at the prone figure of their father.
‘Oh Anwen, what have you done?’
Chapter Six
‘Is he dead?’ said Sara, a tremble in her voice. She leant over Madog, peering at his head.
‘No, I didn’t hit him hard enough.’ The stiffness in her voice covered her uncertainty. Oh God, what would happen to them if the police decided she’d murdered him?
‘He’s not moving.’
‘Here, let me see.’ Anwen bent down, putting two fingers to his neck. She’d seen the doctor do it once at the pit, when they’d brought out a man involved in a rock fall. The doctor hadn’t found a pulse then, but there was a definite one here as she squeezed the sagging skin under her father’s ear. ‘He isn’t dead.’
Heartbreak in the Valleys Page 6
