Heartbreak in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  ‘Oh shut up, woman,’ said Williams.

  ‘Have you drunk all that today?’ asked Hywel.

  ‘Upset he is, about our Christopher going,’ said Esther. ‘I told him, he should be out there searching for him.’

  ‘Shut your trap, else you’ll get a taste of these, too.’ Edgar lifted his hands, balled into fists. They were covered in faded green bruises. There was also one on his chin.

  ‘So it was you who assaulted Cadoc Beadle,’ said Anwen. ‘And it looks like he tried to fight back.’

  ‘No, of course he didn’t,’ said Esther. ‘Got those hitting the door in frustration when Christopher left.’

  ‘But you told Anwen he’d only just gone last night,’ said Hywel. ‘Those bruises are older than that.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Esther. ‘Our son went last night, but Beadle was assaulted a week back. So Edgar wouldn’t have had any excuse to attack him.’

  A good point, thought Anwen, yet… ‘But Christopher tried to leave to sign up before. So he could have assaulted him for giving him the idea.’

  ‘No, no, no!’ Esther’s voice became ever more piercing with each word.

  Edgar wobbled to his feet clumsily, knocking over the chair next to his. His knees buckled before he managed to right himself and he made a grab for the table for support. ‘Of course I beat up Beadle,’ he slurred.

  ‘No you didn’t!’ Esther screeched. ‘You’re drunk and confused.’

  ‘I did it all right, and I’m proud of it. He should pay for encouraging boys to enlist. Bloody war, taking my men, my Daniel, trying to take Christopher.’ He pointed at Gwilym with difficulty. ‘He can take your brother. Don’t bloody care about him.’

  Esther had dissolved into a snivelling wreck, her shoulders lifting and falling as she gave full rein to the sobs.

  Anwen leant across the table from the opposite side, hands firmly planted on it. ‘But if you’re so proud of it, why have you let an innocent man get arrested for it?’

  ‘Oh yes, that was a bonus. Couldn’t believe my luck when the wife told me she’d seen him on Mafeking Terrace, no one else around.’ He staggered back a couple of steps, landing with a thump on his chair. ‘Soon as word went round Beadle had been found, I got her to go straight away and report seeing Hughes. Harries was only too willing to take the credit for a quick arrest.’ He slumped forward and Anwen thought he’d gone to sleep, till he popped up again, confused at first by his surroundings. ‘Ah yes, Idris Hughes. Bloody upstart.’

  There was a dull thump from above. They all looked up.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Hywel.

  Esther ran to the door, blocking it. ‘Nothing, an ornament falling, no doubt.’

  ‘It was a heavy thud, not like an ornament.’ Hywel pulled Esther away from the door with difficulty, so determined was she that he wasn’t opening it. Once through, he ran up the stairs, Gwilym following on.

  Anwen considered Edgar Williams, slumped once more on the table. Esther was crouched on the floor, wailing piteously.

  ‘And you call yourself a Guardian, Esther Williams. The only thing you’ve been guarding is your husband’s crimes.’

  Edgar lifted his head. ‘Guardian? She’s no bloody Guardian. Made it all up, she did.’

  ‘You rotten bastard, Edgar!’ Esther’s bawling grew louder. Her husband flopped forward onto the table once more.

  Neither were likely to be going anywhere soon. Anwen took the chance and headed upstairs.

  In the small bedroom, Christopher was lying on the floor. Gwilym and Hywel were untying his hands and feet, bound as they were with a thin rope. Nearby was a piece of looped fabric, still knotted, which had most likely been round his mouth.

  ‘What happened?’ said Anwen.

  ‘Christopher fell off the bed to alert us to his presence,’ said Hywel. ‘He didn’t run away at all.’

  The boy twisted his wrists back and forth after the relief of their release. His teeth were chattering. ‘They caught me packing a bag to run away and locked me in my room. But I heard the neighbours talking outside in the back garden about Mr Beadle. When I saw Da’s hands I guessed what he’d done, so he tied me up.’

  ‘Duw!’ said Gwilym. ‘What will that man not stoop to?’

  Once Christopher’s feet were unbound, Anwen helped him walk around to get the circulation going, though it was more of a limp.

  Hywel got up. ‘Gwilym, you go downstairs and keep an eye on Williams and his wife. I’m going up to the fire station. They have a telephone there, so I’ll get them to ring the police in Rhymney.’

  Gwilym nodded, leaving for his guard duty.

  ‘Will you be all right here, cariad?’ said Hywel.

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll take care of Christopher.’

  He left and soon she heard the front door slam.

  All right? She was more than all right now she knew Idris would soon be home. It would be like seeing his return from the army all over again.

  Except that hadn’t worked out well, had it? She let that thought dampen her spirit for only a moment before placing a blanket over Christopher.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Anwen heard of Idris’s release from several people while carrying out her afternoon errands for Mrs Meredith the following day. Her shift at the house now over, she rushed to Alexandra Street, practising the speech she’d devised in anticipation of this event. She needed to make more of an effort with him, as she should have done when he first arrived home, instead of accepting a conclusion settled on by him in the midst of melancholy.

  She was brought up short halfway down the street. Idris had stepped out of his front door and was walking in her direction. Spotting her he smiled, an occurrence so rare these days she couldn’t help but reciprocate. She expected his soon to fade, but instead it got wider, revealing the dimples that were once so often in evidence.

  They stopped two feet away from each other.

  ‘Idris, you’re home.’

  ‘Thank you, Anwen. Without your quick wits I might still be in prison. My father told me what happened.’

  ‘I’m sorry you were implicated in this awful business at all.’

  ‘It’s young Christopher Williams I feel sorry for. He was a decent enough lad, like his brother, Daniel.’

  She recalled Daniel’s vague interest in her, embarrassed even though there was nothing in it. ‘They left Christopher with Esther yesterday and didn’t arrest her for her part in the whole drama. She claimed it was Edgar who tied him up and that she was threatened not to say anything. She also insisted she didn’t know until after she reported seeing you in Mafeking Terrace that Edgar had assaulted Mr Beadle. They’ve taken her word for it.’

  ‘Aye, so I gather. Has Beadle woken up yet?’

  ‘Not the last I’d heard. People have been known to be in a coma for weeks, months or even years. I looked it up at the library.’

  He seemed to ponder this awhile. ‘Were you going to the allotment?’

  ‘Not in these clothes,’ she laughed. ‘I was coming to see how you are.’

  ‘That was kind of you. I’m off to the Cottages field. It’s time I started helping again. The one benefit of being locked up in a cell is that I’ve had a rest at least.’

  ‘You do have a bit more colour than you have had of late. I’ll walk over with you. I’d like to see how things are getting on there.’ They set off down the hill. She’d already stopped by briefly on her way home from work, but it was an opportunity to spend more time with him.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve decided to join in again,’ she said. ‘The men respond to your leadership.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, but I do enjoy it.’ He was quiet for a while before he said in a subdued manner, ‘I hear Tom Meredith signed up.’

  Did he imagine she was proud of Tom for enlisting, and that by comparison, his rejection from the army made him a failure in her eyes? She wanted to enfold him in her arms, to reassure him.

  ‘Oh yes, he signed up. But not
out of any sense of duty, more because he knew he wouldn’t get away with not doing so for much longer. And because he made a major mistake in his life and thinks he can escape to some “awfully big adventure”.’ Anwen thought of the copy of Peter and Wendy lying beneath her mattress that she’d intended to give Sara last Christmas.

  ‘Peter Pan,’ said Idris.

  Anwen stopped abruptly, causing Idris to do the same. ‘Yes. A lot of the men who signed up voluntarily thought they were heading for an “awfully big adventure”. But Peter Pan was talking about dying. And sadly that’s what many of them are destined for.’ It didn’t bear thinking about, all the souls already lost to the war, the ones that would be lost before it was finished.

  ‘What mistake did he make? Tom Meredith. Something to do with you?’

  ‘No, nothing to do with me. He did try to woo me a little but I was never really interested. I can’t tell you about his mistake because I promised Elizabeth. Please don’t tell anyone.’ What had possessed her to mention it?

  ‘Of course I won’t.’

  As they set off once more, Anwen said, ‘Tom has little to be proud of. He only ever helped on the allotments half-heartedly. You, on the other hand, have put your whole soul in. You – you’re a hero in my eyes… and Gwilym, and the rest of your group on the allotment.’ She was aware her steps were speeding up, fuelled by her nerves and eagerness to get her speech out.

  ‘I’m only doing my bit. I could have perhaps done more on the Front.’

  Her words weren’t having the desired effect on his mood, but instead had wiped away the smile and painted a frown in its place. They passed over the small bridge that spanned Nantygalon, the tiny stream that trickled down to the valley bottom. She tried again.

  ‘Idris, you can do your bit in your own back yard, with the rest of us.’

  He made no reply, sticking his thumbs in the top of his trousers, pulling on the braces which were on show, due to him wearing no waistcoat or jacket over the patched clothes fit only for gardening.

  They wound their way round the curve in the path to arrive on the road just below the first row of cottages. Anwen took Idris’s arm, stopping him going any further.

  ‘I want to ask you something,’ she said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Did you break up with me because you really didn’t want to be with me anymore, or because you thought yourself inadequate, being discharged from the army? Because if that’s the case, I’ve never thought less of you since you came home. You really tried to do your bit in that way, and I applaud you for it.’

  A few seconds elapsed. A combination of sadness and longing inhabited his deep brown eyes. A swell of love flooded her as she waited to be elated or disappointed. His lips slowly parted.

  ‘Anwen! Idris! What wonderful news it was to hear of your release.’ Elizabeth was running down the field towards them, attired as a man in her usual gardening fashion.

  Anwen glanced back at Idris. His mouth had closed, watching Elizabeth’s progress.

  The moment was gone.

  * * *

  It had been threatening rain all day, the sky low, as Anwen had gone about her work. It wasn’t until she reached her front door that it finally broke, like a cloud tipping out its contents. She held her arms out at the sides, letting the drops wash away the dust of the day. Anyone seeing her would have thought her deranged. Everything was topsy-turvy since Idris’s return. Before that, even, right back to when Tomos died. People passed on, left, changed personality, raged wars, on and on as everything good, everything beautiful eventually decayed.

  Her father had told her to come the front way in future, not round the back, ‘bursting in on my business without a by-your-leave’, as he put it. She resented that she couldn’t enter her own home whichever way she wanted. Furthermore, Cadi was being dismissed every afternoon when he arrived home from his shift, leaving her mother without help or company, the house only half cleaned, and no preparation made for supper.

  Often Cadi sneaked back when she knew her son was elsewhere. Even she had little sway on him now and had told Anwen she didn’t want to make too much fuss in case he banned her from the house altogether.

  After less than a quarter of a minute, the rain stopped as quickly as it had started. She shivered in her insubstantial jacket. The temperature today, like most of the summer so far, was nippy. Still she stood there, stuck in time, not wanting to enter the house. She might have remained there, in a dream world, had the door not opened. Madog was in his smart suit once more, apart from the jacket that hung on the hatstand.

  ‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’ he hissed. ‘I saw you from the window, just standing there. Get in the bloody house.’

  She stepped in, removing her jacket. ‘I’ll just go and change.’

  ‘No you bloody won’t. You can get me something to eat. I’m bloody starving.’ He went back to the kitchen, sitting at the table expectantly. ‘Get me something quick. Eggs and bacon’ll do.’

  ‘But that’s for breakfast, Da. There’s only one slice of bacon and two eggs left.’

  ‘Just bloody get it!’

  Her boots squelched to the scullery and back. She turned up her soaked sleeves, wishing she hadn’t been so foolish in the rain. Soon she had the bacon sizzling in a pan, along with two eggs, glad for the warmth of the stove. Madog had fetched a knife and fork and was now sitting down, the cutlery held upwards in each hand. He started grumbling in a mixture of Welsh and English, neither of which Anwen could make much sense of.

  ‘Should be given a bloody medal,’ was the first phrase she understood.

  ‘Who should, Da?’

  ‘Edgar – bloody – Williams. That’s who. Instead of being handed in to the police like a bloody criminal.’

  ‘Da, he is a criminal. Not only did he attack Mr Beadle, he tied up his own son and locked him in his room. That’s cruel, that is.’

  ‘He bloody deserved it. Would have done the same to Tomos and Geraint if they’d tried that on.’

  She flinched, both at the rare mention of their names and his proposed cruelty to his dead sons. And the fact that both would have been old enough to be called up had perhaps slipped his mind.

  ‘Da, don’t.’

  He propelled himself out of the chair and took three long strides over to her at the stove. His body hovered over her cowering form, far too close and stinking of something that was probably meant to be pleasant, a type of cologne. But he’d put on too much. ‘And it’s your bloody fault, isn’t it? I ’eard about it, you and your uncle and that bloody friend of Idris’s. But it was you told the police the whole story you concocted.’

  Anwen was aware the bacon and eggs were on the verge of overcooking. There would be hell to pay if that happened, yet she couldn’t risk moving. ‘I didn’t concoct it. I just worked it out and Edgar Williams confirmed it. Told the whole story.’

  ‘Bloody little liar. How’re we going to carry on without Edgar? He organises us, he do.’

  ‘I heard one of the surface overmen, John Bowen, was taking over as under-manager.’

  ‘What’re you talking about, you stupid cow? Bowen’s got nothing to do with this.’

  From above them they heard the tapping of the walking stick Hywel had found for Enid, so she could easily draw attention when she needed it. A distant voice called, ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘That bloody stick,’ said Madog. ‘That’s going on the fire.’ His head shot back. ‘Shut up you silly cow!’

  Anwen glanced at the food again. Soon it would be too late.

  ‘Everything’s useless now because of you and Idris. You’re useless. Enid’s the most bloody useless of all.’

  The bacon was browned to a crisp and beginning to burn. The egg yolks were already hard, which Madog hated.

  ‘Da, Mam can’t help it if she fell down the stairs.’

  He inched closer. ‘If she’d done as she was told, she might not have done.’

  Had she slipped on something he’
d warned her about? No. Wait. Something Hywel had said the night she fetched him, after she knocked her father out… It was there, at the back of her mind, trying to connect with something at the front.

  Oh God. No. ‘Da, did you push her?’

  ‘You’re a bloody liability you are, and too bloody clever by ’alf. You need teaching a lesson.’

  Before she could dart out of the way, he’d lifted the pan with the overcooked food and smoking lard, tipping it over her arm.

  ‘Arrrhhhh!’ she screamed, running immediately to the scullery.

  Bang, bang, bang, went the stick on the ceiling. ‘What’s going on, what’s happening?’ came the faint call.

  Anwen hurried to the sink, holding her arm under the flowing tap. It wasn’t long before Madog followed her into the scullery, expletives dripping from his lips, the frying pan held high.

  On the draining board was a bigger pan. If only she could swing it effectively, she could defend herself, as she’d defended Sara that night.

  She lunged for the pan, the tap still running, her arm blistering. She clutched hold of it, Madog shouting, ‘Oh no you don’t!’ He swung his pan, meeting hers as she fought back. Each about to swing again, they were halted in their tracks.

  An enormous pounding bang made the house vibrate, followed by a slightly smaller one, then a rumble like that of overhead thunder.

  Anwen dropped the pan, running to the back door, leaving Madog in the middle of the room. He lowered his pan, terror invading his face. She opened the door, got two steps outside, surprised to find Abraham Owen there.

  ‘Has something happened?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it has.’ The colour had drained from Abraham’s face.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I heard screaming coming from your house as I was passing down—’

  Madog appeared in the doorway shouting, ‘The pit! It’s the pit!’ He ran from the house, barging past them, disappearing out of the back gate.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Anwen. ‘Let’s go, let’s go.’