Heartbreak in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  ‘Another cup of tea?’

  ‘No, thank you, I’ll be getting along now. Go and keep Mam company.’

  When Anwen stepped back into the street, the pale blue sky was streaked with lilac clouds. She breathed in the cool evening air, a relief after Violet’s stuffy kitchen. Setting off, she enjoyed the freedom of a walk on her own for around ten seconds, before she noticed Esther Williams walking down Bryn Street.

  ‘You should get home,’ Esther intoned when Anwen was still several paces away. ‘Before it gets dark and people think you’re a loose woman like Violet Jones, entertaining another man in her house. Murky goings-on indeed.’

  Anwen stopped to survey Esther. ‘What a vivid imagination you have, Mrs Williams. You clearly don’t have enough to do as a Guardian, if you have time to go poking into other people’s business.’

  A pink tinge swept across Esther’s face as she came to a standstill. Stabbing a forefinger into the air, she said, ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’

  ‘Oh I dare. Go on, report me to the police, or whoever it is you report to. I’ll tell them you’re a bully and unsuitable for the job.’

  ‘You – you will regret this!’

  Esther set off down the road, almost running. She was soon out of sight, whether on her way home or to harass some other poor soul. Anwen didn’t much care either way. She’d had enough of Esther Williams. She’d had enough of the whole lot of them. Tomorrow she’d seek Tom out and say yes to a trip to the cinema. There had to be some fun among the boredom and torment.

  * * *

  The following evening, Anwen headed off through the village, her heart pumping hard, on her way to meet Tom. She hummed softly to herself, trying to contain her excitement and fear, as she met various villagers and wished them, ‘Noswaith dda.’

  It was quite a story she’d concocted to her father and her mother, not wanting Mam to have to lie for her. She was going with Elizabeth to an allotment meeting in Bargoed, she’d told them, one where some people had started keeping chickens. She thought maybe they could start keeping a reasonable number of them in the village? Her father had recently moaned about the decreasing number of eggs available, liking an egg or two a day. He had, as she’d anticipated, been enthusiastic about the idea. She knew Elizabeth was staying in this evening, determined to read a book on keeping poultry she had purchased from Schenck’s bookshop. That made the falsehood a little true. And if she was spotted with Tom in the motorcar and it got back to her father, she’d simply say Elizabeth had gone on ahead and young Mr Meredith had been tasked with fetching her. Perfect.

  ‘Noswaith dda, Anwen,’ said Rhonwen, approaching her on Gabriel Street, as she passed the Ainon chapel on one side and the school on the other. ‘You look cheerful. Where are you off too on this lovely evening?’

  She hadn’t anticipated having to tell her fib to anyone outside her family. What if Rhonwen gossiped to others about it? It might get back to the Merediths, who’d know Elizabeth had done no such thing. Better to keep it simple.

  ‘I’m heading off to a meeting. Allotments and so on.’

  ‘Very nice. We do appreciate all your team’s efforts. Have a good evening.’

  ‘You too, Mrs Evans.’

  She hadn’t realised she was tensing her muscles until Rhonwen moved on and Anwen relaxed.

  She was halfway down Mafeking Terrace by the time she heard the rumble of the Morris Oxford behind her. She turned as Tom pulled over and jumped out of the motorcar, the engine still running. He opened the passenger door for her and she ran round to get in.

  ‘So you came then,’ he said, once he’d got back in.

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t have said I was if I’d no intention to.’

  There was a crunching noise as Tom pushed the gear lever forward and they were off. ‘You might have changed your mind.’

  ‘Well I haven’t.’

  ‘You look very pretty in that dress. Makes a change to what you wear to our house.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She’d had a job explaining to Da why she had to wear her best dress, a green one she wore to occasions like weddings. She needed to look impressive for the councillors and JPs who might be at the meeting, she’d told him. It was the only point at which she thought she might fail in her deception. The dress was a little old-fashioned now, but the skirt fell in soft folds until the hemline where it flared out. The waistline was a little higher than her other dress and the sleeves were full at the top, narrowing around the cuffs. She’d never worn it to the picture house before, not even with Idris. But then, Idris didn’t expect elegance.

  In Bargoed, Tom parked the motorcar and they walked down to the Hanbury Electric Theatre, with its wide triangular roof. In the foyer, Tom bought the tickets – the best in the house – then led her to the front circle, a balcony overlooking the stalls. They sat in the third row back. It was the first time she’d been up here. She glanced at the people around them. They didn’t look any different to her, making her feel at ease.

  ‘The programme is starting with an episode of The Exploits of Elaine,’ Tom said dismissively. ‘I read in the paper that the main feature, Circus of Death, is quite spectacular. The performers have done all the tricks themselves so that there’s no fakery. Taken enormous risks, apparently.’

  ‘I do hope it won’t be too frightening,’ said Anwen, clutching the top of her dress.

  ‘You’ve no need to worry. I’m here to hold your hand if you’re scared.’

  He raised his eyebrows, leaving Anwen unsure whether he was mocking her or serious. She felt uncomfortable at the idea of his hand in hers so soon.

  The Exploits of Elaine came and went, being but a short part of a longer story and so not engaging Anwen much. It was maybe a little less silly than The Perils of Pauline, of which she’d seen a couple of episodes.

  Circus of Death, on the other hand, was as dramatic as Tom had indicated, with a climax consisting of a female acrobat rescuing a baby from a monkey on a high chimney. The audience oooohed and aaahhhed their way through, with frequent gasps of shock and cries of, ‘Look out!’. Anwen was quite exhausted by the time it had finished, partly due to the effort she’d made not to appear scared.

  ‘That was jolly good fun, wasn’t it?’ Tom asked as they vacated their seats.

  ‘It was very well done, though I can’t believe there really weren’t any tricks, for it would have been incredibly dangerous, especially for a baby.’

  ‘I daresay you’re right. Now, how about a cup of tea somewhere? I believe there’s a café nearby.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘I need my sleep, for I’ve got to get up early for work tomorrow, even if you don’t.’ She added a chuckle, realising as she was speaking that it sounded like a criticism.

  ‘I guess you have. And what would we do without you at McKenzie House? Come along then, let’s get you home.’

  The drive home was pleasant, each of them relaying their favourite scenes of the film. The sun had disappeared, allowing the clear sky to show off its thousands of stars, like a twinkling carpet. Anwen looked out at them as she considered what a pleasant evening she’d spent, and what a gentleman Tom had been. It was then that he stopped the motorcar, on the road between Rhymney and Dorcalon. He switched off the engine and turned towards her.

  ‘I’ve enjoyed your company,’ he said. ‘I’m so glad you finally agreed to come.’

  ‘I enjoyed it too. The film was particularly good. Thank you for inviting me.’

  She’d barely finished speaking when he lurched towards her, holding onto her arms as he attempted to kiss her. She shoved him away, yelling, ‘Stop that now!’

  She could just make out his pained expression in the dark.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. It was just, you were just – so nice to me.’

  ‘That’s no excuse for dishonouring me. Why, Id— the man I was betrothed to, well, we were walking out a long time before he attempted to kiss me. And then he asked if
it was all right to do so.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. That’s the decent thing to do. I’m sorry… sorry.’

  He started the motorcar again. They proceeded in silence, until he reached the end of Gabriel Street, as instructed by her, where he stopped.

  ‘Thank you for the trip out,’ she said. ‘Nos da.’

  ‘Good night,’ he replied. ‘No, wait.’

  She halted, halfway through climbing out of the door. ‘What?’

  ‘I truly am sorry. I don’t know what came over me. It was a most ungallant gesture. I promise, if you agree to come out with me again, that I won’t repeat it.’

  ‘I don’t know, Tom. We’ll see.’

  She climbed out without another word and watched him drive away. She was angry with him, yes, but she also felt something else. Pity. Goodness knows what for, him being the golden boy, at university, with a glowing future away from the village. But she sensed that he was all at sea, like a lost little boy. Still, that was no excuse for being discourteous. She would be sure not to forgive him too quickly, otherwise he might try it again. Did that mean she was thinking of repeating the experience? She was too confused to make that decision now.

  * * *

  Idris had just finished filling his first tram of coal that morning, stopping for a drink of water from his tin bottle, mopping his brow with the shirt he’d now discarded. He felt hotter than normal. He’d have thrown the rest of the water over his head if it hadn’t meant he’d be without a drink.

  Today they were having a memorial service for Percy Vaughan and Robert Harris at the chapel. It was one of the few times he was glad to be hidden in the depths of the earth, hewing back to back with his butty, Jory. He would mourn their passing in the unholy blackness, in another type of trench to the one they’d met their end in.

  From a distance he was aware of Edgar Williams’s voice, echoing down the tunnel. He was somewhere close by, doing his inspections. He’d managed to avoid him the last few days, not missing the antagonistic glower he was usually treated to. He could hear fragments of the conversation Williams was currently having with someone – something about the air currents and whether there was sufficient for the safety of the men working there. He didn’t usually hassle the hewers thankfully, only speaking to the deputies or firemen, reserving any discipline or opinion-spouting until they were above ground.

  The under-manager’s voice ceased. Idris lifted his pick, swinging it over his shoulder to start digging once more. He’d got in only three strikes when Williams called, ‘Hey you, Hughes.’

  Idris stopped mid-strike, lowering the pick, peering into the inky dark to ascertain the whereabouts of the under-manager. The rugged tunnels distorted sound down here, so it was sometimes difficult to tell where a noise was coming from. Jory kept on digging. Williams stepped into the dim light of Idris’s lamp.

  ‘Jones the fireman said you were here. Decided not to wait to give you the good news.’ Half his face was in shadow, lending his features a menacing appearance. ‘You’re going to a higher place, Hughes.’

  ‘Just say what you mean.’ It was a wonder to Idris that a man with a less patient temperament than him hadn’t knocked seven bells out of Williams long ago. Probably too afraid of losing their jobs.

  ‘Above ground. Screening, like I promised you.’

  Idris dropped the pick, placing both hands behind his back, one hand gripping the wrist of the other. Don’t rise to it. ‘But I’ve been producing more coal this last coupla weeks. I’ve kept a tally, see.’

  ‘You’re mistaken. Last week’s was down on the week before.’

  ‘It wasn’t. Look at the numbers recorded.’

  ‘I have. That’s how I know.’

  He’d fiddled the figure, he must have done. Idris knew for certain he’d sent out more trams of coal last week than the week before. ‘I brought a piece of paper with me, and a pencil, in my pocket. Been marking off the trams.’

  Williams’s laugh was dry and brief. ‘Couldn’t care less. It don’t prove nothing, does it?’ He leant in so close their noses were almost touching. ‘Now listen here. You can thank that silly bit of a girl you used to go with for your promotion. She was rude to my wife. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose once, when she was on the screening. Now she can’t keep her mouth shut. Encouraged by you, no doubt. And my poor wife’s already distraught with Daniel being called up. But then, he is able-bodied.’

  He’d been at school with Daniel Williams, a boy who went largely unnoticed. Not like his father at all. Idris had no pity in his heart for Mrs Williams, only a vague concern for their son.

  ‘Take your change of job as a warning, Hughes. Tomorrow you’ll be on the screens. And if my wife gets any more abuse from that one, or from you, you’ll be out of a job altogether. You understand?’ He pushed Idris away.

  Oh yes, he understood. He imagined shoving Williams back, knowing he wouldn’t. His reasoning was all an excuse. If it hadn’t been this incident with Anwen, he’d have found some other reason to beat him down. Right at this moment, Idris had no fight left in him.

  ‘One day that bastard will get his comeuppance,’ said Jory, after Williams left. ‘I’ll be sorry not to be working with you anymore.’

  ‘Aye, me too.’ Idris retrieved the pick and was soon taking out his frustration on the coal wall.

  * * *

  Idris wasn’t at chapel, despite his family being present. Next to Anwen, Uncle Hywel and Gwilym were talking of the new British Summer Time and how it would be light an hour later this evening. She’d vaguely thought about how useful it would be for working on the allotments, before slipping back to her preoccupation with Idris. She had a brief fantasy about him standing next to her, grinning warmly as his hand surreptitiously took hers.

  Hywel spoiled the dream by leaning into her vision to say, ‘Cup of tea? I can fetch you one.’

  She caught the sigh of frustration in time, smiling instead. ‘Oh, yes please.’

  ‘Gwilym?’

  ‘I’ll be along in a moment. Just want a quick word with Anwen.’

  When Gwilym didn’t speak straight away, Anwen said, ‘You’re wearing a frown all of a sudden.’

  ‘Edgar Williams demoted Idris to sorting on the screens on Friday. He said it was because you were rude to his wife.’

  She had to think for a moment, the two episodes not linking at all in her mind. ‘Oh, you mean when she was rude to me, on Wednesday?’

  ‘I don’t know no details. That’s all Williams said. Reckoned you used to be a quiet thing but that mixing with Idris had made you “mouthy”, as he put it, so it was his fault.’

  The guilt trickling through her was brought to a halt by reason. ‘Well that just doesn’t make sense now, does it? I’ve known Idris since I was six years old, so whether I’ve become more mouthy recently has nothing to do with Idris.’

  ‘I know it makes no sense. Williams has it in for Idris, that’s for certain. He’d already threatened to put him on screening because he said his tram numbers were down. Reckon he’ll use any excuse.’

  ‘But to use my argument with his wife! It’s inexcusable, especially when she picked on me.’ She told him about the incident that occurred as she left Violet’s house.

  ‘Never been a happy woman, that one, even when she wasn’t a Guardian.’

  ‘Something’s got to be done.’ She stamped her foot on the wooden floor, before taking two steps away.

  ‘Hey, where’re you going?’

  ‘I’m going to sort this out. Apologise to Uncle Hywel for me, would you?’

  ‘You want some help?’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine.’

  She carried on, darting sideways through the chattering throng. The sooner she spoke to Idris about this, the better. What on earth would he be thinking of her? Out of the chapel, she ran up the side road and across the field. Her firm knock on Idris’s door quickly summoned him.

  ‘Anwen?’ He peered out as if he expected others to be with her.

  �
��Idris, could I have a private word, please?’

  He hesitated for a moment, before moving to one side. ‘Go in the kitchen then, you know where it is.’ His voice betrayed a little impatience.

  In the kitchen a pan was bubbling on the stove, a tang of boiled vegetables pervading the air.

  ‘Well, what is it?’

  ‘There’s no need to be so short with me, Idris Hughes. I know you must blame me for what happened.’

  ‘I’ve never blamed you for what happened!’ he interrupted. ‘I know it’s me who’s changed.’

  ‘What? No! I’m not talking about you breaking it off.’ She pulled out a chair and sat down, suddenly drained. ‘Gwilym told me what Edgar Williams said.’

  ‘Ah.’ Idris sat in one of the armchairs by the fire.

  ‘I’m sorry, Idris. I never dreamed that you’d be punished for what I said to Mrs Williams. I got cross with her because she was implying Violet and Hywel were having a relationship behind Charlie’s back. And that I was a fallen woman for being out on the street on a light May evening.’

  ‘You’re the very opposite of a fallen woman.’ His expression was solemn.

  Was it a criticism? Would he have preferred her to be a little more… flighty, like Polly Coombes?

  ‘Don’t be offended. It’s a compliment. You’re a good woman, better than many I know.’

  ‘And you know many, do you?’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t blame you for what’s happened, Anwen. Williams has had it in for me a good while. I don’t want you to worry about it. You’ve got your life, and I have mine.’

  ‘But he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do, right? Just leave it be, Anwen.’ He rose, giving the impression he was dismissing her.

  ‘I’ll be going, then.’ In one swift movement she got up and left the room.

  He followed her into the hall saying, ‘Thank you for coming to explain.’

  Many thoughts were tumbling around in her brain, all things she’d like to say to him. Instead she picked a simple, ‘Farewell, Idris,’ before opening the door and walking away.