The Valley of Lost Secrets

by Lesley Parr

The first fella laughs. ‘No need for that. That’s the trouble with you city lot, always in a rush, you are! Go to the end of this street, then up, turn again and it’s halfway along on the right. Got a big sign and baskets outside. You can’t miss it.’

  I tap my leg and Noble follows me. We walk away and the old fellas start their argument again. The only words I understand are Alun and Gwen.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  D. HUGHES LTD

  At last I know I’m on the right street. I see the baskets of fruit and veg, and Noble races off as we get near. The window is big and the paintwork over it is dark red. The name stands out in gold, bright and clean like the livery on a train:

  D. Hughes Ltd

  The D must stand for one of Ieuan’s relatives, maybe his grandad. Noble noses his way through the door and I catch sight of Ieuan behind the till. I try to slip away but he sees me and then he sees Noble.

  ‘Jimmy! Quick! Get him through to the back, mun,’ he says. ‘Mam’ll go mad if she sees him in the shop!’

  I don’t need to do anything; Noble knows where to go. He slips through an opening in the counter, past Ieuan and into a back room that looks like a kitchen. I can just see his tail wagging as he drinks from his water bowl.

  ‘He was out on his own.’ I step inside and let the door close; the bell makes a tinkling noise.

  ‘You didn’t bring him back specially, did you?’

  I nod, shoving my hands deep into my pockets.

  ‘Well, that’s good of you but you didn’t need to. He goes out on his own all the time, mun. He’ll probably be off again in five minutes.’

  I feel stupid, but at least Ieuan is the same as he was yesterday, friendly and smiley. Maybe Florence didn’t tell him about our row. The bell jingles, an old lady comes in, and I move out of the way.

  On the shelves are Oxo cubes, Chivers jam, Bird’s custard. I thought it would be different, that the labels and signs would all be in Welsh, but this could be a shop in Islington. I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse. There’s a sign for Fry’s Cocoa. When Mum was around to put us to bed, she used to make great big mugs of hot chocolate with that. A picture pops into my head: us laughing at Ronnie’s frothy moustache. I blink it away.

  The old lady asks for butter, then adds, ‘Making a cake for my Frank, I am.’ She looks at me like she expects me to know who her Frank is. ‘Evacuee, is it?’

  I nod.

  ‘How’s yours, Ieuan?’ she says.

  Ieuan breathes out really slowly before answering. ‘If you mean Florence, she’s very well, thank you. Mam’s landed to have a girl about the place.’

  Landed. Another word I don’t understand here.

  ‘Well, I’m sure she is but …’ She leans over the counter and lowers her voice. ‘I was just saying to Mrs Ringrose. Evacuees! From London, of all places! Why they couldn’t send us some from Cardiff I’ll never know. Now don’t get me wrong, I sympathise, but we’ve barely enough for ourselves in this village without sharing it with waifs and strays.’

  He weighs out the butter without looking at her. ‘It doesn’t matter where they come from. If we can help, then we should help.’

  ‘Oh, of course, that’s why I’m on the Welcome Party Committee –’ she smirks – ‘but we know where we are with our own, don’t we? What with the collection money pinched from St Michael’s. It’s never happened before.’

  ‘What, never?’ He winks at me. ‘Did you know that, Jimmy? You’ve arrived in a sainted land, mun.’

  She makes a face like she’s sucking a lemon.

  I hear laughing coming from the kitchen. Ieuan must see me looking because he stops wrapping the butter and smiles. ‘Mam’s showing Florence how to make Welsh cakes.’ There’s a loud squeal and more laughing. Ieuan shakes his head and sighs. ‘No idea what’s so funny about flour and currants myself.’

  While Ieuan takes the old lady’s money, I listen to the happy sounds coming from the kitchen. Florence Campbell never laughed in London. Here she does it all the time – outside chapel, up the mountain – and I don’t know what I thought her laugh would be like but I’m a bit surprised it’s nice-sounding and so … girly.

  The old lady leaves.

  ‘Ignore her,’ Ieuan says, wiping his hands on his apron. ‘Some people have no idea about the world outside this valley. Never left Llanbryn, mun. So, how’s Ronnie? Feeling any better, is he?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘His stomach ache – yesterday up at the foxhole – Florence said that’s why you left so quick.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, cottoning on. ‘Yeah, he’s, erm, fine now. Thanks.’

  ‘Florence!’ Ieuan calls back into the kitchen. ‘Jimmy’s here. He said Ronnie’s fine.’

  Florence appears in the doorway; her face is streaked with flour and her thick hair is powdered white. It looks like one of those wigs from the olden days. She watches me but says nothing.

  ‘You stand by here and mind the shop a minute while I go and tell Mam about an order,’ he says to her. Wiping her face, Florence steps behind the counter. I turn and pretend to be interested in a sign that says Brasso – The New Liquid Metal Polish. I’m sure I feel her eyes boring into me like a drill. I can’t blame her. What I said to her at the foxhole was horrible.

  So I do something that surprises even me. I turn to Florence, look her right in those hard-staring eyes and say:

  ‘I’m sorry. For what I said.’

  She shrugs. ‘I’m used to it.’

  I know this is true. I think about school and the way the others were always saying things like that to her. I never thought I’d be one of them. They called her names or waved their hands under their noses when she was near. I never did it; Nan always told me it wasn’t Florence’s fault she was dirty. But I never stood up for her either. I just used to keep out of it and make sure she never sat next to me.

  ‘You can keep it though,’ she says.

  ‘Keep what?’

  ‘Your apology. I don’t want it.’

  Now it’s my turn to feel like I’ve been slapped in the face.

  ‘Know why?’ She’s daring me again. I shake my head – even if I knew what to say I don’t think anything would come out. ‘Because I expected better from you, Jimmy Travers. I thought you were different.’

  I don’t know what to say or what to do, because she’s right. I expected better of me. I thought I was different.

  So I leave. Flaming evacuation. Flaming Wales. Making me say things I’d never normally say.

  Changing me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TRAPPED

  I run down the street and across the road. Over the fence and up, up, up. I want to snap the string on my gas mask box and throw the flipping thing down the mountain but, no matter how horrible I feel, I can’t. Because of this stupid, stupid war. I keep running, even on the really steep bits, till my heart feels like it’s bursting in my chest and my legs are burning. Not knowing or caring where I’m heading.

  And then I’m here.

  Facing the tree again.

  I lean on the gate to catch my breath, wiping sweat and tears off my face. I’m crying because I’m angry and I’m angry that I’m crying.

  Across the field, the tree reminds me that I do have a place to go. Up there, behind the leaves, the rest of the world doesn’t exist and I don’t have to miss home, or worry about Ronnie or how Duff’s changed. Or Florence Campbell’s flipping feelings.

  But to get to the tree I have to pass the skull.

  Come on, Jimmy, it doesn’t have to be scary; it’s just like the one in your science lesson.

  From the top of the gate, I check all around for people but I can’t see anyone. I cross the field and my heart starts pounding. I hold my breath and creep towards the spot where I left it. A breeze ruffles the grass under the tree and there it is.

  Waiting.

  I stand over the skull. My hands shake and I close my eyes and suddenly I can’t look. But I have to. I kneel and put my
gas mask box in the grass. My face screws up tight and my breath comes out in little puffs as my fingers wrap around the skull, both hands this time.

  It’s only bone. Nothing to be scared of.

  Questions pour into my mind like someone turned on a tap. What the heck happened? How long has it been here? And who did it? I do know one thing though: it really isn’t that different to the one in my science lesson.

  Up in the tree, behind the leaves, is the best place to think; my hide-away-from-the-world place. I can’t climb and hold the skull though. I look at my gas mask box; the skull would easily fit in there. I put the gas mask in the hollow, the skull in the box, and climb. I’m fast, sitting on the branch before you can say Jack Robinson.

  I take out the skull and hold it in front of me. I run my fingers over it and feel a small dent, a crack in the bone just at the back of the head.

  ‘What happened to you?’ I whisper. ‘Who are you?’

  And all of a sudden I realise that’s what I need to do. This used to be someone.

  And I’m going to find out who.

  ‘Jimmy?’

  The voice makes me jump and I peer down through the branches to see Ronnie squinting up at me, his hand over his forehead like the sun’s in his eyes.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Aunty Gwen sent me to get you, it’s nearly dinner-time.’

  ‘What?’ How long have I been here? Then I remember that in Llanbryn dinner means lunch. ‘How did you know where I was?’

  ‘I saw your legs hanging down.’

  ‘But how did you know I was on the mountain?’

  ‘I saw Duff and he said you came this way so I looked for you.’

  If Ronnie can find me so could Duff – and those boys. They’re the last people I want nosing around. Because, after what happened this morning, I know I can’t tell Duff anything.

  ‘Hurry up,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t supposed to go further than the end of the street.’

  ‘Ronnie, Mrs Thomas will be frantic! You know how she fusses.’ I sneak a look at the skull, then back at Ronnie. ‘You go back and I’ll follow you in a minute.’

  ‘Why can’t we go together?’

  ‘Just do as you’re told.’

  He gets a smiley look in his eye – it’s the same one he had at the chapel when he shouted out ‘Aunty Gwen’. ‘I’ll wait for you,’ he says, folding his arms. ‘Then I can see what’s in your hand.’

  Little git! He’s got me trapped.

  ‘There’s nothing in my hand,’ I say, turning so the skull’s behind my back.

  ‘Show me then.’

  I show him one at a time, carefully manoeuvring the skull from hand to hand like a really bad magician. But he’s not fooled.

  ‘I’m not going without you,’ he says.

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  I tuck the skull out of sight in my lap and lean back against the trunk again.

  A little voice floats up from the ground. ‘Is it a football?’

  ‘No, just go away.’

  ‘A rugby ball?’

  He’s definitely seen something. ‘It’s nothing, Ronnie.’

  ‘Come down then. I want my dinner.’

  ‘Lunch.’

  ‘Dinner.’

  This could go on all day … and now he’s started jiggling about, his hands over the front of his shorts. I know that little dance.

  ‘Need a wee?’ I ask.

  ‘No.’

  I know he’s lying. I’m just about to start talking about rivers and waterfalls and long drinks of water when a gunshot cracks the air a few fields away. I rock on the branch, feel the skull leave my hand, swipe the air with desperate fingers, but it falls and lands at my little brother’s feet.

  He makes no sound; just stands there staring at it. Like he’s frozen. I almost fall out of the tree in my scramble to get down. I grab the skull. Ronnie’s eyes are fixed on me now but it’s like he isn’t seeing me. He steps back, shaking his head. Oh heck, a dark, damp patch is spreading over his shorts. I put my arm out to him but he backs even further away. I look at the skull in my hand, then I make a parting in the long grass at the bottom of the tree and hide it there.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up. There’s a stream down there, we can wash out your wet things. You can wear my shirt, it’ll cover you right up.’

  He seems to snap awake. ‘All right, Jimmy,’ he says, but his eyes are still blank.

  I walk him to the stream, take off my shirt and slip it over his. We don’t say anything while I swill his underpants and shorts in the water. I hang them on a bush to dry and we sit for a while.

  ‘Is it really a skull, Jimmy?’ Ronnie says.

  I look at him, at his big doe eyes. But there’s no point lying to him now; he might be six and daft but he isn’t stupid.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It is.’

  ‘Of a person?’

  ‘I think so.’ I turn to face the tree. ‘I’m going to put it back.’

  ‘Where?’ He looks terrified. ‘In its grave?’

  I suppose, in a way, the tree is a grave and I wonder if I should have taken it out at all. ‘No. The tree. I’m putting it back and you can’t tell anyone it’s there.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I said so.’

  ‘You sound like Nan.’

  ‘Look, I found it so it’s my secret and you can’t tell another person’s secret, especially not to a grown-up. They spoil things.’

  They do. They think they know everything but all they do is leave or make wars or send their children away.

  ‘Can I tell Ieuan then? Or Florence? They aren’t grown-ups.’

  ‘No.’ I feel his clothes, they’re still quite damp but they’ll just have to finish drying while we walk. ‘We don’t know who we can trust and, anyway, it’s just you and me here, Ronnie.’

  ‘It isn’t just us.’

  It’s best to ignore him now. ‘Come on. Then we can go back for lunch.’

  ‘Dinner.’

  ‘Ronnie, I’m not doing this again. Move.’

  ‘I’m not coming.’ He pulls at some grass, waggling his fingers and letting it fall over his bare legs.

  I grab his clothes off the bush. ‘All right, you stay here. Watch out for Welsh snakes though – one might come and bite you on the backside.’

  He’s up and after me like a shot.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A GREAT RIGHT HOOK

  Ronnie’s still a bit damp as we walk to Heol Mabon, back in our own clothes now, our gas mask boxes bumping against us as usual. He’s still in a daze so we don’t walk fast, even though we’re both starving. We’re almost there when Duff and Jack come round the corner.

  ‘All right?’ I try to keep moving but they get in the way.

  ‘All right?’ Duff says.

  Jack looks at Ronnie in a way I don’t like. ‘Why are your shorts wet?’

  ‘He fell in a stream,’ I say, standing up really straight so Jack will feel even smaller.

  ‘Fell in a stream?’ His face is all twisted up like he’s trying to be tough but he just looks rattier than ever.

  Ronnie puts his head down and grabs my hand.

  ‘You sure he didn’t pee himself?’ Jack says.

  Before I can deny it, Ronnie gives the game away by bursting into tears. Jack laughs. I look at Duff, who just shrugs. Not long ago he would have been on our side.

  ‘So you did then?’ Jack leans down to Ronnie. He doesn’t have to lean very far.

  ‘Shut it!’ I say, shoving Jack hard on the shoulder.

  He staggers back. ‘You’ll wish you hadn’t done that, vaccie.’

  ‘Get lost.’ I try to drag Ronnie away but he’s stuck to the spot.

  ‘Is that what you lot do? Just pee wherever you like?’ Jack sneers. ‘Filthy vaccies. I saw you talking to that Campbell shunk outside the chapel the other day too. She’s not fooling anyone with her clean dress, is she, Duff?’

  I don’t know what a
shunk is but I can guess. Duff must have told Jack that Florence is usually dirty and, I don’t know why, but it makes me even angrier.

  ‘If vaccies are so filthy, why are you mates with one?’ I say.

  ‘Not all of you are bad.’ Jack puts an arm around Duff’s shoulder. ‘Anyway, he’s one of us now.’

  Duff grinds his shoe into the pavement.

  Jack’s right in Ronnie’s face again. ‘Did you pee yourself, little vaccie?’

  I grab the back of Jack’s tank top and pull him away but before I can land a punch—

  BAM!

  A fist flies from nowhere into the side of Jack’s face. He crashes hard on to the pavement with a noise that sounds like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

  ‘She broke my jaw,’ he mumbles, holding his cheek.

  She?

  ‘You wouldn’t be able to speak if I’d done your jaw.’ Florence Campbell stands over him, fist up, ready for a second blow. ‘Now clear off before I give you another.’

  Jack gets to his feet, all wobbly. Duff looks as stunned as me as he helps him up. When Jack moves his hand from his face, his mouth is bleeding.

  ‘She’s not right in the head,’ he says, grabbing Duff and pulling him up the hill.

  Florence gives Ronnie a hanky. ‘You all right?’ she says. He wipes his cheeks, blows his nose and goes to give it back. She pulls a face. ‘Keep it.’

  ‘Thanks, Florence,’ Ronnie says. He points at a little brown paper parcel in her hand. ‘What you got?’

  Florence holds it up. ‘Welsh cakes. Phyllis asked me to take some to your house. Want to walk together, Ronnie?’

  She holds out her hand and he takes it. I follow – again. They chat as they walk. When we turn into Heol Mabon, Florence looks round at me and actually smiles. Not a smirk or a sneer but a real, proper smile. So I smile back. Ronnie lets go of her and races off to number twenty-one. I catch up with Florence.

  She looks at me sideways. ‘All right?’

  I nod. ‘You’ve got a great right hook.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she says, making her hand into a fist again and holding it up in front of her like a trophy. ‘You have to with a family like mine.’