by Cathy Ace
‘It would be quite a break in the case if someone came forward with evidence of a sighting of the victim between the last time his mother can be sure she saw him, on the 30th October – and the discovery of his remains on the 7th November,’ he mused.
‘It would, but everything we’ve been able to find out about him suggests he was a shy boy, and known for keeping himself to himself. It was also in the paper that he went off on buses all over the place. So maybe a bus driver spotted him somewhere, I suppose. I dare say they’ll be trying that. And I bet your lot are doing their best to get something out of the lads who hang around on the streets in the general area, in case any of them spotted him.’
Evan snorted.
‘Want to share?’ asked his wife.
‘Expecting to get anything out of that load of losers? The same sort of useless idiots who set fire to a car parked right next to the police station in Penlan last month? It was lucky no one was injured, or worse. What on earth do they think something like that accomplishes?’
‘Nothing, cariad. That’s not the point.’
Evan nodded emphatically. ‘Correct. It’s pointless.’
‘They probably see it as a way of making their feelings known,’ added Betty quietly. ‘Not a particularly positive, or useful method of communication.’
Evan shook his head in disgust. ‘Complete waste of space. Now, putting that to one side, if we believe everything Sadie Jones screamed out in the court, we have to discount Aled Beynon as being the figure Watkins saw departing the area. However, we still have his description to work with. Watkins saw someone on a bright turquoise bicycle, wearing a yellow vinyl coat with a hood. Both of which Aled owns.’
Having crunched a peppermint to shards, Evan added, ‘I bet those brainiacs in London won’t ever be able to come up with a cause or time of death. So all we’re left with is what everyone knows. One – on the afternoon of the 31st October there was definitely no mound of stones covering a heap of bones at the RAF place; we know this because the Reverend Llewellyn Thomas was up there that day, around two-ish he said in court, and everyone agrees he’d have noticed it. Two – the remains were found on the morning of 7th November by Hywel Evans and his dog.’
‘That pile of stones on top of the remains? That sounds like a cairn itself,’ said Betty. ‘But they’re built as a mark of respect, aren’t they, not to hide things.’
‘That’s a thought . . . a cairn.’
‘Has another lightbulb popped?’ Betty was mugging surprise.
‘Yes. Maybe. Tell you what, let’s park in the main car park, not the one at the church, and let’s walk and talk. You made good time at the end there – well done.’
‘Thanks,’ said Betty in a strange tone. ‘Will you pat me on the head in a minute?’
‘Sorry.’
Evan delighted in the sun’s warmth on his face when he stepped out of the car. ‘Weird weather this year,’ he observed. ‘This tie straight, is it?’
Betty fiddled with his collar a bit. ‘Can’t even dress yourself. Never told me that before I married you, did you? What else have you been keeping from me?’
They set off toward the church, arm in arm.
‘Nothing worth knowing,’ said Evan. ‘Mind you, sometimes people don’t mean to keep something a secret, but it’s really hard to tell even a significant other absolutely everything about your life – because there are bits you forget yourself until something reminds you. Like the Devil’s Table, for example; I remember coming to visit my grandmother in Lower Middleford for a week one summer, and walking up onto the moor with some local girl. Can’t even remember her name now. Anyway, we kissed; a very innocent kiss. I must have been about twelve, I suppose. I hadn’t given it a thought – during my adult years – until today. I haven’t meant to keep that from you, I just hadn’t recalled it, until now. I promise I’ve not been trying to keep you in the dark about my earliest experiments with the opposite sex.’
Betty chuckled, and play-thumped her husband. ‘Okay, I believe you. Now – what about cairns?’
Evan kissed Betty’s cheek. ‘Yes – cairns – the symbol of an honorable burial for a person of significance. A memorial of their life. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. My initial assumption – and that of Jenkins’s investigation – was that the stones and so forth piled on top of the skeletal remains were put there as some sort of forensic counter-measure, right?’ Betty nodded. ‘Well, what if they weren’t? What if they were put there to specifically mark a resting place, as a signal of respect, or loss? Like they were originally meant, as you said.’
Betty sounded puzzled, ‘You’re thinking the mother?’
‘James Powell’s mother? No. Not her. All those interviews she’s given? However hard she might try to sound as though she adored him, she clearly didn’t respect her son in life, so there’s no way she’d go to all that bother in death. But what about someone to whom he really did mean something? Maybe there’s a yet-to-be revealed relationship with an unknown person. You see, we can’t even be certain the culprit was from this area, can we? I mean, anyone could have done it. We have to question every previous assumption.’
‘But why James Powell, and why here? And why a cairn?’ Betty sounded sullen.
‘Good for you for asking the question it’s the duty of every professional detective to keep asking – why? But we’ll have to pick this up later,’ said Evan. ‘Time for a double funeral. Eyes peeled, and off we go. Let’s see what we’ll see.’
‘I hope Helen’s coping okay,’ said Betty solemnly. ‘She’s having a really difficult time of it at the moment, I should think.’
Sadie
I’m so glad all the reporters have stopped coming to the pub, and phoning all the time.
Mam was right to make a fuss about them not being able to see me. I don’t want my photo everywhere, without my say-so; I had to save Aled – I did, and that should be an end to it.
It’s just as well that baby was found dead in a ditch in Newcastle – they all ran off to write about that instead.
And now I can really celebrate, because it’s finally here – the first time the whole village will see me and Aled out in public together. It’s so exciting. He’ll look lovely in his suit, I know. I texted him to suggest he got it dry-cleaned after wearing it in court, and I bet it’ll come up looking nice. And a black tie will set off his white shirt a treat. He’s so handsome, he’ll look heavenly, even though he’s dressed for a funeral.
We’ll be walking in together, of course. Both our grandmothers, laying side by side in their coffins, and we’re each going to place a little bunch of flowers on top of one coffin. We agreed.
It’s not quite how I’d expected to walk up the aisle with him, but it’ll do for a start. We’ve hardly had a chance to see each other at all, let alone be together just the two of us, since they released him. Of course he went straight from the jail in Cardiff to his grannie’s bedside in hospital. He slept there for a whole week, holding her hand, even though she wasn’t really conscious. Then she died. They didn’t have to do anything much to her body afterwards, because they knew why it had happened.
Not like Nan. They kept her body for ages after she died; I expect they cut her up into tiny pieces. Serves her right. I think it’s hilarious that Nan and Grannie Gwen are having a joint funeral; it was cheaper to open and close both graves the same day, so Mam and Aled agreed to do it this way.
His Grannie Gwen said she wanted him to wear bright colors for her funeral, but he agreed with me a black tie was best, because his suit is dark grey, not actually black. Nan would have wanted everyone in deepest black, Mam said, so I’ve got a new frock, because Mam said I had to wear one. I already own lots of black, but she said none of it was suitable. I have no idea where I’ll ever wear a black dress again, but at least it’s chiffon and long, so maybe I could make it look a bit more dressy with some jewelry if I need a grown-up, formal outfit at some point – though why I would, I cannot imagine.
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It’s a lovely day for it; a perfect blue sky, with cotton wool clouds. My favorite. Nan would have come up with some reason or other to hate it – but I think it’s lovely. The sun’s shining, the birds are singing, the wind is blowing, and the sheep are dotted about on the emerald grass, as they should be. Rhosddraig is truly beautiful on days like today.
Oh good, there’s Aled now, waiting for me at the end of the path into the church. Mam left the pub ages ago; I wanted to be about five minutes late, so they’d have to wait for me and Aled, and they could all watch us walk up to the coffins looking suitably unhappy, but at least as a couple. I thought it would give our entrance to the world as we truly are a bit more gravitas. It’s an important day for us – the first day of the rest of our lives. The start of us becoming what we were meant to be – a force to be reckoned with.
The Head at school told Aled he could either do his A levels when they hold the re-sits – or put them off for twelve months. He agreed to wait a year. Once I heard, I asked if I could do that too. It’s for the best. Though having been away from school for a few weeks now, I didn’t enjoy the feeling of being back there. In just over a month, when I’m eighteen, I’ll be able to work behind the bar with Mam, which will be great . . . I think. Agata’s still doing most of the shifts at the moment; I’m not sure I really like her, but Mam says she doesn’t know where she’d be without her – or me, of course.
We spent a lot of time making Welsh cakes and bara brith yesterday, for the get-together at the pub after the funeral; Agata said she and her sister would make the sandwiches fresh, before we’re due back there.
Mam’s still having to take it easy; the doctor said she got a mild concussion when she fainted onto the marble floor in Cardiff Crown Court. I’m sure she’ll be fine; rugby players are always okay after they have a concussion, and she doesn’t go running around like them all the time.
Any moment now, I’ll finally be at Aled’s side. I’ll kiss him on the cheek, just lightly, but he’ll know how much the kiss means. He’ll open the door for me like the gentleman he is, and it’ll be our time. I can hear Hywel Evans playing ‘How Great Thou Art’. That must have been one of Grannie Gwen’s requests, because Nan hated it; thought it was modern rubbish.
I wonder if she’s spinning in her coffin?
Helen
Keep it together, Helen.
Standing in the front pew, with Gwen’s woven straw coffin on one side of the altar, and her mother’s sleekly varnished wooden one the other, Helen Jones felt utterly alone, and completely empty.
Hywel had been playing repeats of various suitably solemn hymns, followed by more up-tempo theatrical pieces, for ages, then the vicar gave him a nod; he played an introductory verse to ‘How Great Thou Art’, and the congregation began to sing. The little church was full – unusual for the Saturday of Holy Week.
Helen glanced toward the door. Where the heck is Sadie? She knew what time the service was supposed to begin.
Finally, the door opened, and Helen was relieved to see her daughter and Aled enter.
They both had pink, puffy eyes, and a slightly unhealthy glow about them; they walked solemnly along the short aisle, and each placed a little posy of flowers on top of the casket containing their grandmother.
It was an incredibly touching moment, and noses were blown in a chorus – but Helen felt queasy, and not just because she knew she had to speak in front of so many people in a few minutes’ time.
Sadie joined her mother to the left of the aisle, where all the seats were filled with people dressed completely in black. Aled sat in the front pew to the right of the aisle next to the little pulpit; the seats behind him were filled with people wearing the most vivid colors imaginable. Helen thought the church looked as though it was set up for some weird sort of ritual, and noticed the Reverend Thomas was looking a little uncomfortable. Did he, like Helen, see this as a symbol of the villagers quite literally ‘taking sides’? Even the Corries had split up.
When the time came for Helen to speak, she chose to stand between the two coffins, rather than mount the couple of steps to read at the lectern in the pulpit; she didn’t want to feel as though she were preaching. She’d hardly slept the night before, worrying about what she’d say. She’d thought about it a great deal and had written reams of notes, which she’d read aloud to a bored-looking Sadie on several occasions. But now her hands trembled, and she knew she ran the risk of her voice not holding out, which annoyed her – this was an important speech, the last time she’d have the chance to tell people what she thought of her mother.
Not that she had any intention of sharing any honest feelings with them, of course; that wouldn’t be proper. No, she’d carefully constructed a speech mentioning all the right sorts of things about Nan. She shook as she unfolded her notes, then looked up at the sea of faces, and it all just seemed to flow out of her. She mentioned her mother’s childhood in Rhosddraig during the war years, and spoke of the fifties when she’d helped with growing fruits, vegetables, pigs, and sheep because of rationing; she elaborated on the fanciful tales her father had whispered to her about his courtship of Nan – and even told people about him inventing that name for the woman some of them had known until then only as Myfanwy; she talked about how Nan had relished motherhood, being at the heart of the community, and even grandmotherhood.
Then she stopped. Enough lies, she thought.
Still just about able to make out the features of the people filling the church through her tears, with Sadie and Aled in front of her, she folded her notes and added, ‘This has been a time of great division in our little community. We’re not numerous, we true People of the Dragon, so we should all stand together. Because of what . . . happened in court . . . everyone here knows that Nan’s granddaughter Sadie, and Gwen’s grandson Aled, have . . . formed a bond. I say today is the day we all start afresh, and take heart from this young couple who came here to share their grief. If that’s what it takes for us all to forgive each other’s unkind thoughts, and maybe even harsh words, then let’s help them move on, and begin to share some happiness.’
Both Sadie and Aled looked at Helen with wide eyes. A farmer sitting at the back of the church – not a regular attendee – managed four vigorous claps before realizing no one was about to join him, though there was a significant rearranging of backsides on wooden pews, and many satisfied glances exchanged. Helen nodded her own head, just twice, as she retook her seat.
She dabbed her eyes as Sadie clutched her hand, and they both watched Aled mount the steps to the pulpit. He, like Helen, pulled out a folded piece of paper, then spoke in a bell-like voice, telling the congregation that his grandmother had asked him to read a part of the sermon written by a priest at St Paul’s Cathedral upon the occasion of King Edward VII’s body lying in state in 1910. He explained it was often referred to as a poem, though it was not written as such, and was known as ‘Death Is Nothing At All’.
Helen, like the entire congregation, was transfixed as he read aloud. Aled appeared to have a halo around his short, curly hair; Helen knew it was just the effect of the sunlight streaming through the window beside him, but it gave an ethereal air to his entire person. His eyes were moist, and he almost glowed with an unusual-for-him pallor; it all made for an intoxicating picture.
By the time he had finished, everyone in the church was crying, and Helen was as convinced as her daughter had always been that this boy could never have killed anyone, nor have burned human flesh.
‘Amazing Grace’ was sung for Gwen, and ‘The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Has Ended’ was sung for Nan. Helen, Sadie, and Aled joined the Revered Llewellyn Thomas in the porch to shake everyone’s hand as they exited, before they all moved to the Beynon family graveside, for the interment of Gwendolyn Jane Beynon, then to the Jones family plot, for the interment of Myfanwy Valerie Jones.
Not one person left before it was all over, and Helen reminded the crowd that everyone was welcome at the pub where the food would be free, a
nd the bar would be too, for a couple of hours. She’d thought that fair; her mother would never have forgiven her if she’d had an open bar all day.
It was only when they’d all got back to the pub, and most people had a drink and something to nibble in their hands, that Helen finally found a moment to be able to thank Mair Bevan for the friendship she’d shown her mother over the decades; she brought Mair a selection of sandwiches and a glass of Mackeson to a table where she’d made sure the nonagenarian had a comfy seat.
‘I know Mum was so grateful to you, for everything you did with her, and for her,’ said Helen, taking the chance to sit down, just for five minutes.
Mair’s voice was so cracked and breathy, Helen needed to get close to be able to hear her over the general hubbub. ‘Nan was many things, Helen; grateful wasn’t one of them. She took what she wanted, and did as she pleased. All her life. Don’t forget, I was thirteen when she was born; I never had any misconceptions about your mother’s capacity for anything.’
Helen didn’t know quite what to say. She’d never been sure why Nan and Mair were such ‘friends’, despite her mother never showing any gentility or kindness toward the older woman. She tried her best to not look uncomfortable. ‘I’m so pleased you were able to be here today. You’re looking quite like your old self again,’ she ventured. ‘I’m glad you got over the pleurisy alright. It’s a nasty thing. Have you had problems with your lungs before?’
Mair cackled. ‘My own fault. Smoking for more than sixty years will do that to you. Still, who’d have thought I’d have seen off Dilys Watkins, and now both Nan and Gwen? All of them so much younger than me, yet here I am, and they’re all gone.’
Helen wondered if Mair sounded just a little too pleased with herself. She decided to let it pass. ‘Hearts and strokes, all of them. It’s terrible,’ she said, shaking her head sadly.
