Anwen noticed her friend’s cheeks redden a little, which was unlike her. She hadn’t been to visit her for a couple of weeks, being so busy at home. Yet Idris was getting better now, so she could have spared her a bit of time, what with Violet being on her own with the children and the house. What a terrible friend she was. It was odd that Violet hadn’t called around their home recently though, like she used to.
‘We’re off home, Hywel bach,’ said Enid. ‘Not enjoying the company too much this week.’
‘Why?’ Hywel looked at them all in turn.
‘Long story, mun,’ said Idris. ‘Tell you over dinner.’
‘I’m going to pop round to Violet’s first and fix her tap for her,’ said Hywel. ‘Sounds like it needs a new washer.’
‘There’s a kind man you are, bach,’ said Enid. ‘More of the neighbours should be like you.’ She linked arms with Cadi and marched off.
Idris waited for Anwen as she said, ‘I’ll come and see you next week and we’ll catch up.’
‘That would be nice,’ said Violet.
‘I won’t be long,’ said Hywel.
Anwen nodded and took Idris’s offered arm. She looked back as they walked away, to where Hywel was bouncing Benjamin once more.
‘It’s a shame Uncle Hywel’s never married and had children of his own, for I’m sure he’d have made a splendid da.’
‘Aye, I believe he would,’ said Idris, ‘but it doesn’t happen for everyone. I believe there was someone once, back in Cardiganshire, but she broke his heart.’
‘Really? How do you know that?’
‘Chatting over a beer one evening, no doubt. Was a while ago now. Anyway, it’s not too late for him to have a family.’
Anwen’s hand went to her stomach briefly, as she tried to imagine what it would be like to fall pregnant with her own child. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before she found out.
* * *
‘I’m right, aren’t I, Uncle Hywel?’
Hywel had kept his head behind his newspaper, sitting at the kitchen table as far away as possible from Anwen and Idris, in the hope of keeping out of their argument. He should perhaps have gone for a walk, but he’d wanted to finish reading the news before he took himself out.
‘Ooh, don’t get me involved, fach. I’m not about to come between a man and his wife.’
‘But he only had the operation two-and-a-half months back,’ said Anwen. ‘You can surely see the sense of him waiting a little longer till he goes back to work. Maybe wait till after Christmas?’ She was furiously rubbing the polish on the dresser as she spoke.
Idris ran his finger across his neck, over the scar of his operation. ‘You know, that’s exactly what my mother said when I turned up last November, after being discharged. A year ago today, that was.’
‘But you didn’t wait and look what happened then. Ill, you were.’
‘I would have been ill anyway, you know that.’
‘I just don’t want you to undo the good that’s been done. You’re getting so much better now.’
Hywel could see this disagreement going on a long while. ‘What about you get Dr Roberts to come and have a look, eh? He’d surely be the best judge of things.’
‘The last time he came he was pleased with how well I was doing,’ said Idris. ‘That was a month ago. John Bowen says I can have the underground examiner’s job back when I’m ready, but I doubt he’ll keep it open forever. Always short of workers, they are, now.’
‘If you’re worried about money, mun, what Enid and I are earning will tide us over until after Christmas,’ said Hywel. ‘And Cadi’s making a bit with her sewing.’ He creased his brow, trying to create an expression for Idris alone that said, for an easier life.
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Idris, standing to lift his scarf off the back of the wooden armchair. He wrapped it round his neck. ‘I’d have thought you’d have been glad to get me out from under your feet by now, cariad.’
‘Oh Idris, how could you say that?’ Her face fell into sadness.
‘Only judging by other wives I’ve heard complain about unemployed husbands. Right, I told Jenkin I’d go with him and Evan to visit Cadoc. Hopefully they’re both bathed and dressed after their shift.’
‘How are they getting on at the pit?’ Hywel asked. ‘I haven’t seen them since I went to Cadoc’s with them.’
‘Bit of a shock it was for them when they first started, for all their bravado. But they seem to be getting used to it now.’
‘I’m so glad the boys are visiting Mr Beadle,’ said Anwen. ‘For I think it has cheered him up a little.’
The scullery door clunked shut and Enid’s voice called, ‘Only me back.’
‘Maybe,’ said Hywel. ‘The truth is, Cadoc is not what he used to be before the accident, and I have doubts he ever will be. I’ve known men in their eighties more quick-witted than him.’ There, he’d said it out loud. Nobody else seemed to want to entertain the idea.
Anwen pushed a tress of umber hair off her face. ‘Dr Roberts thinks Cadoc’s got melancholy. He described it as being a bit like the shell shock some of the soldiers have. He took a fair battering from Edgar Williams, so I can see why he compared it.’
Enid entered the kitchen. ‘He just needs to pull his socks up, if you ask me. You off out somewhere, Idris bach?’
‘Going with Jenkin to Cadoc’s.’
‘Well tell him I’ll be down on Sunday to collect some clothes to wash.’ Despite her earlier words, she and the knitting group had taken turns to do Cadoc’s washing and shopping for him.
‘I’ll walk part of the way with you, Idris,’ said Hywel.
‘Where’re you off too, then?’ said Enid.
He hesitated a moment, wondering whether to claim he was visiting a pal or going to the shop, but untruths never had come easily. Only when he’d been dealing with Madog Rhys. And that was only because he’d needed to protect Anwen and Sara, so he’d gone along with whatever they’d had to say to keep their father calm. ‘I’m popping into Violet’s. Last time I was there I noticed her picture rail was coming away from the wall in the kitchen. Thought I’d hammer it back up for her.’
He felt the pulse in his head, as if he had lied after all. It was true, but, he knew, it wasn’t the whole truth, for it wasn’t like he was round all the widows’ houses offering to do jobs for them.
‘That is mighty decent of you,’ said Enid, ‘for she was a good landlady to you.’
‘Which is exactly why I want to help her out,’ said Hywel, more to convince himself than the others.
Enid headed to the kettle, shaking it to ascertain how full it was. ‘I wonder if she’ll remarry. Young woman like her, a dainty face, should attract attention. And she’ll need someone to keep her.’
‘Mam!’ said Anwen. ‘I’m sure Violet has nothing further from her mind.’
‘What’s wrong with that? Betty King up James Street was married within six months of her husband going. Had to think of the kiddies, she did.’
‘Come on, mun, let’s get going,’ said Idris.
Hywel went ahead. ‘Get no argument from me.’
He was more than glad to escape the awkward conversation.
* * *
The knock on the back door was a welcome one to Violet. Anwen had said she might pop by later and it was time she put the kettle on and had a sit down. Since finishing her dinner she’d been busy with housework, needing something to keep her mind off her circling thoughts.
‘Come in,’ she called, putting the dustpan and brush back in its place by the sink.
She was ready to smile with a thankful hello, when the door opened and revealed Hywel. The clash between her delight in seeing him and the guilt of it, along with shame at her dishevelled appearance, must have put a discouraging expression on her face.
‘I’m sorry, have I caught you at a bad time?’
She pushed the hair that had escaped her pins off her face. ‘Of course not. What can I do for you, Hywel?’
He c
ame in fully, closing the door after him. ‘It’s proper cold out there today, so better keep any heat in. It’s got much nippier since the sun went down.’
‘I was just about to put the kettle on. I thought you might be Anwen as she said she might call round.’
‘Sorry to be a disappointment,’ Hywel laughed. ‘I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea myself.’ He rubbed his hands together, then looked less sure of himself. ‘If you’re offering, that is.’
She wasn’t sure if she was or not, being in two minds as to whether it was a good idea. She didn’t want to embarrass him, or herself, so said brightly, ‘I need a bit of a rest and you can tell me how your job’s going. Benjy and Clarice will be glad to see you too.’
‘And I them. Shall I fetch the kettle and fill it up while you finish off?’
‘No, no need for that now. You go and say hello to the children and sit yourself down.’
He did as he was told. Although he’d often helped when he’d lived here, it didn’t seem right now. He was a visitor; that was all.
She fetched the kettle from the kitchen to fill it up. Hywel was sitting at the table, doodling something for Clarice in her book.
‘Uncle Hywel is drawing me a doggie, Mam. I’m going to paint him brown and black, like next door’s doggie, and Benjy says he’s called Woof.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Violet, looking from her son to her daughter, both of whom were beaming. Some of the deep sadness of losing their da had rubbed off already, no doubt with their fading memories. ‘Don’t pester Uncle Hywel too much though.’
Picking up the kettle and returning to the scullery, she wondered at the wisdom of getting the children to call him ‘Uncle’. It had started when he’d first lodged with them, and only because they’d always called Anwen and Gwen ‘Aunty’. It might have been more seemly to have gone with ‘Mr Llewellyn’.
With the kettle on the stove, Violet plonked herself in one of the chairs by the fire. ‘Don’t feel you have to sit with the children the whole time.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Hywel. ‘I’m enjoying myself, drawing. I’d forgotten how satisfying it is, putting pencil to paper. I’m doing a cat for Benjy now, which Clarice has suggested the name Miaow for.’
Anwen had bought Benjamin his own drawing book for his second birthday in August, as he’d always looked at Clarice’s with such longing.
‘Tell you what,’ said Hywel, passing Benjamin’s book back to him, ‘Why don’t you call the dog Miaow and the cat Woof?’
The children giggled.
‘That silly, Nunky Hywel,’ said the little boy.
‘It’s Uncle, not Nunky,’ Clarice corrected him. She stopped colouring and considered Hywel. ‘Are you going to come and live with us again? I miss you.’
The errant thought, So do I, invaded Violet’s head before she could stop it.
‘Not at the moment,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to live with my family now so I can help them.’
‘You used to help us,’ said the girl.
‘I can still help you sometimes. Which reminds me.’ He watched Violet as she made the tea. ‘The main reason I came was to put that picture rail back up properly.’ He pointed to the offending object in the corner of the room.
Violet brought the tea over. ‘You don’t have to do that.’ She went back to make two milky teas for the children.
‘No, I don’t have to, but it needs doing and it’s a bit high for you.’
She sat again with her own cup. ‘I can stand on a chair. And I’m not that weak.’
‘Don’t be offended, cariad, I know you’re capable. It’s just you have to do all the jobs now.’
She’d been doing all the jobs on her own for a long time, but she’d let him help on this occasion. ‘You know where the tools are, but finish your tea first.’
‘You always did make a good cup of tea.’
She absorbed the compliment but didn’t comment, not wanting to encourage him.
When he’d drained his cup, he left the children to their colouring and went out to the small shed next to the outside lavatory to fetch the hammer and some nails. She cleared up the cups, making a list in her head of what needed doing in the house next. She looked around. It was the cleanest it had ever been, yet with its scruffiness, she wondered if the effort was worth it.
Hywel was quick and efficient at hammering the picture rail back. Not that she had anything to hang up on it. Charlie had never been fond of decorations so wouldn’t condone buying frames for photographs or pictures. She’d fancied a print of Barry Island she’d seen on a trip there, when she and Charlie were first married, but he hadn’t liked it.
Violet tipped her head to one side, smiling at her children’s sweet, chubby faces. Both had a look of Charlie, with their shapely lips and wide eyes. Oh Charlie. If only you hadn’t enlisted. You’d still be here for me and the children. Clarice and Benjamin were almost all there was left to show Charlie had ever existed. She was beholden to them to make sure they grew up well. It was the least she could do for her late husband.
‘That’s that done,’ said Hywel, placing the hammer and spare nails on the chair. ‘The picture rail could do with a repainting. I noticed a tin of white paint in the shed. Shall I do that for you?’
‘No, Hywel.’ She stood. ‘Please, come through to the scullery.’
‘I’ll put the tools away first.’
‘No, don’t worry about them. Please?’
She went ahead. Stopping by the butler’s sink, she held onto one corner of it. It would take all her willpower to say what she had to. ‘I’m grateful for your offers of help, Hywel, but I think… I think it might be better if you didn’t keep calling round. It doesn’t seem quite right and people might talk.’
‘I’m old enough to be your da,’ he joked.
‘But that’s just it, you’re not. You’re only fifteen years older, and since when did age stop people getting – together?’ The implication of what she was saying had the blood rushing to her face. ‘Not that I’m saying we would, no, I’m saying people will think that’s the situation, and me only recently a widow. There are too many gossips in this village ready to see the worst in a situation.’
Hywel sucked his lips in and looked down at his shoes. ‘That’s true enough, but all the same it seems a shame to give in to them when all I’m trying to do is help you out.’ He looked up at her sadly. ‘I’m not expecting anything else from you, Violet, I swear.’
‘I believe you because goodness knows there’s not really much to admire in me.’ He was about to protest when she interrupted. ‘I’m not looking for a compliment, just stating the obvious. I’m also not after putting the burden of bringing up two children on anyone else. They’re my responsibility. I know plenty of others remarry simply for security, but I couldn’t use anyone like that.’
Why she was telling him this when he’d made it clear he had no intentions that way she didn’t know. Maybe to make sure he never got any ideas in the future.
He nodded slowly. ‘Thank you for making the situation clear. I understand why you don’t want idle tongues wagging. It’s still a shame I can’t be a friend in need. It’s your decision, of course. But if you ever need a friend, or someone to help you out in any way, you know where I am.’
He didn’t wait for a reply before opening the door and disappearing into the darkening evening.
Violet clung onto the sink with both hands, her head hanging down. She’d managed to offend him as a friend and make a fool of herself by implying he was attracted to her. What must he think?
At least you’ve made your position clear. It had been a painful exchange, but a necessary one. Maybe now she’d get on with her life, without Charlie, and without Hywel’s attentions.
Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth stood on the platform at Dorcalon station. There were a fair few people here to greet the soldiers, home on leave today. Next to her, a couple of young lads stood together, while a young woman peered eagerly down the line to spy the
train.
Disappointment filled her as she recalled, once again, the letter that had come for her well over a week back now, to inform her that she’d been unsuccessful in her application for the job in the overseer’s office at the council. She hadn’t even been called for an interview. The letter had come not many days after the application closing date and she wondered, not for the first time, whether they’d even bothered reading it once they’d seen a woman’s name. At least she wouldn’t have to have the inevitable argument with Mama.
Today she was annoyed with her mother for not being at the station. She’d found a note in the hallway when she’d come downstairs earlier that morning. It seemed shopping in Abergavenny and having lunch with Anna Fitzgerald and her set was more important than welcoming her only son home. Elizabeth only hoped she wasn’t still trying to keep on the right side of Mrs Fitzgerald in order to secure her a husband.
This would be Tom’s last trip home before being sent to France. Or wherever he was being sent to. She wasn’t at all sure if he’d be joining the brigade the other men from here were already in, and going to wherever it was they were going to next. She’d heard that the Welsh brigades had lost a lot of men and the numbers needed to be made up, so it was possible.
A familiar figure walked onto the platform, her blonde, curly hair pinned up under a navy hat with a small brim and striped band. Her yellowish skin contrasted with the blue coat.
‘Gwen!’ Elizabeth called, waving.
Spotting her, Gwen grinned and hurried to join her. ‘I guess you’re here to meet your brother.’
‘And you yours.’
‘Yes. Henry wrote that he’s looking forward to the change of scenery. Anybody would think he was on an extended holiday somewhere, the way he writes.’
‘At least he does write. Tom’s letters have become infrequent, but then I suppose there’s not much to write about when you’re training. He was a keen letter writer at university, full of funny observations of tutors and fellow students. Now he simply states their day-to-day life.’
‘Henry’s the opposite. He talks only of capers and trips into French villages that he’s not allowed to name. He gives the impression that they’re hanging around in the back lines and he can’t wait to get into the action again.’
War in the Valleys Page 13
