Riding the Storm

by Susan Holliday

  He blew on his cold hands.

  ‘That’s what this is about,’ said Alun, slotting the letter between Tony’s red fingers. Tony undid the flap of the top pocket in his leather jacket. He slipped in the letter and at the same time brought out a small piece of beige paper and held it up.

  ‘Here it is then. The winning ticket. Never won a raffle before, let alone a Christmas tree. It’s huge.’ He indicated the size of the tree by a wave of his large, fat hands.

  ‘Will there be room for it?’ asked Alun.

  ‘Well . . .’ Tony looked down then up. ‘Your Mam says she don’t like real ones. Needles, see. But I say, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’

  I’ve got to ask him, thought Alun. It’s now or never. He listened as Tony munched an apple and described the tree. ‘Bigger than anything round here,’ he was saying, ‘never seen the likes. Still, it’s the baby’s first Christmas.’

  The sentence was out before Alun had time to think: ‘Can you bring Catrin?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Here to see me. Can you? Or can Mam?’

  ‘It’s not that she can’t. She’s just not quite ready. You know what women are.’

  Alun looked at him blankly. ‘She’s meant to be my Mam.’

  ‘Well she is your Mam. But she’s been through a lot, hasn’t she? You can’t expect too much. Then there’s that social worker on her heels. She’s dug right in against her, I can tell you.’

  ‘I want to see my sister,’ pleaded Alun. ‘It’s important.’

  Tony threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘Come on, do you really mean that?’

  He stopped and looked at Alun’s enclosed blank face.

  ‘Oh no, you haven’t gone again, have you? I thought we’d got over all that.’

  Alun didn’t mean it to come out so easily. ‘I hate you laughing like that,’ he said in a low venomous voice. ‘I hate . . .’

  ‘That’s it, then,’ said Tony, angrily getting up and zipping his jacket. ‘No sense of humour; no nothing. If that’s how you feel I’ll tell you what I think of you then. You’re a proper wimp, that’s what you are, always moaning and groaning about something. You half-kill my baby and then you expect us to bring her round and put her in your arms! You must have lost your marbles on the way. What’s more, I spend my precious time coming to see you and every time I’m treated like dirt. And you have the cheek to ask me to do errands for you!’ He flung Alun’s letter on the floor and raised his hand. ‘I’m not coming again, I can tell you that. I’ll pass your so-called message on to your Mam, but that’s it. We’ve had more than enough of you, one way and another.’

  Red in the face, hands clenched, he brushed past Huw’s family and stamped his way heavily out of the door.

  For a while nobody broke the silence. Then Ffion put her arms round Alun. ‘I hate him too,’ she said.

  ‘Hush,’ said Mrs Gwynne. ‘That’s enough talk of hating.’

  Alun was pale and tense and when he spoke his voice was thin.

  ‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that.’

  ‘It happens to all of us,’ she replied.

  ‘We’re friends with you,’ said Ffion. ‘Aren’t we Mam?’

  ‘Of course we are.’

  Mrs Gwynne looked into her large brightly-coloured bag and brought out a paper tissue. ‘Blow your nose. It always does you good.’

  ‘They won’t have me back,’ said Alun. ‘I know they won’t.’

  ‘Can he come and live with us?’ asked Huw.

  His mother smiled. ‘It isn’t that they don’t want you,’ she said to Alun. ‘They’re worried, that’s all. Thinking of themselves, if you like.’ She lapsed into silence and then her face lightened. ‘Tell me about your Dad. Huw says he used to go to church.’

  ‘St. John’s,’ said Alun, in a monotone.

  ‘But that’s our church,’ Mrs Gwynne smiled so her teeth flashed. ‘Someone there ought to know where he is.’

  ‘It was ages ago when he went,’ said Alun. ‘Things went wrong, see? Everything went wrong.’

  ‘Are you seeing the social worker?’

  Alun nodded. Mrs Wellsman was on his plus list. Perhaps he should talk to her again.

  Mrs Gwynne leant over and picked up the letter. ‘I’ll get this off for you,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, Alun, there are always times when we can’t help letting the cat out of the bag.’

  He nodded and smiled reluctantly. He was calming down. He hadn’t meant to say he hated Tony out loud or was that untrue?

  Perhaps he had meant it. Perhaps he was really pleased he had said it. Perhaps he should have said it months ago, before Tony moved in.

  He wished he understood himself better. What he did know was that he wanted to make it up with Catrin, to say sorry to her face to face, to make sure she was better. He wanted that more than anything in the world.

  It was gone midnight. For a moment it seemed as if Alun and Huw were the only people in the hospital who were awake. Huw was sitting up in his dragon pyjamas, staring at the cupboard, waiting.

  The ward was full of silent shadows slumped across beds, drifting across walls. The night nurse, who had been sitting at a table, stood up and went into the office.

  Alun leaned up to the window and peered through the curtain. It had stopped snowing and now there was a hint of a moon behind the clouds. The snowman was caught in the lights of someone’s car. Alun thought of all the snowmen he had made with Dad in the back yard, a long line of them over the years. Together they had rolled and scraped the snow into huge mounds. He remembered how little pieces of ice clung to the wool of their gloves and scarves. Every snowman had Dad’s pipe in its mouth and his cap on its head. When they finished they used to go indoors and drink hot cocoa and stare out of the window.

  He turned back to Huw. ‘I should go to sleep if I were you. I don’t think Rhiwallon will come.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We’re all getting better, that’s why.’

  Huw looked at Alun in surprise. ‘We’ll give it a bit longer anyway. Perhaps the moonlight will help him come with his last message.’

  ‘You never know,’ said Alun. ‘They say the moon does all sorts of strange things.’

  They both stared intently at the cupboard. At first there was nothing at all in the mirror, only the reflection of the night light in the ward. Then a white veil seemed to pass over the dull surface, and a break of silver.

  The moon’s come through the clouds, thought Alun, that’s what it is, and to bring himself down to earth he looked down the ward at Olwen with her long brown hair spread over the blanket.

  Huw sat silently beside him. After a while he whispered, ‘He’s there, Alun. Rhiwallon’s there. He wants us to have a wish before he goes. I know he does.’

  ‘Wishful thinking,’ said Alun, but when Huw reached for his crutches and climbed out of bed, he did the same.

  No one woke as they went up the ward. One of the curtains on the right side was caught back and Alun saw the full moon scudding in and out of white cloud.

  Moonshine, he thought as he followed Huw up the aisle. But after all, it was their last chance. As they drew near to the cupboard the light in the mirror settled to a little point between their two shadowy figures, one small, the other surprisingly tall. The light trembled white and gold and grew larger like Bryn’s star, fixing and dazzling their eyes. It was then Rhiwallon stepped out of the light, smiling and pale, with one hand outstretched and the little black calf under the other arm.

  They reached out to touch him, their hands side by side as if they were making a sign, one hand small with shining nails, the other long and thin with bitten uneven nails. Alun shut his eyes. He felt as if he was going through the glass and out on to the Black Mountain where the cattle grazed and Rhiwallon waited by the lake with moonlight in his hair.

  ‘I will get better,’ he promised silently. ‘You see I am getting better already. I have plans, directions. I promise yo
u I’ll try to be a doctor. As for wishing, if I could see Dad again I’d be over the moon. That’s for sure.’

  In his mind’s eye Rhiwallon was smiling at him as if he understood. With a great feeling of relief Alun opened his eyes and looked closely at the mirror. Rhiwallon was walking backwards into the darkness, his image growing fainter and fainter. For a long time he stared at the fading image until there was no one reflected in the glass except Huw and himself. He smiled at Huw who still had his eyes screwed up tightly and was muttering something under his breath.

  ‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘We don’t want to get caught.’

  As they made their way down the ward the moon was hidden behind clouds. Shadows lay on the sleeping children and there was no noise, as if Rhiwallon was still exerting some sort of special influence, wherever he was.

  ‘He’s gone!’ whispered Huw when he was back in bed.

  Alun nodded. ‘What did you wish?’

  ‘I’ll tell you if you tell me.’

  ‘I asked for my Dad to come back,’ said Alun, but he didn’t say any more. The promise he had made was between himself and Rhiwallon and he would never tell anyone.

  ‘I wished I’d play rugby for Wales,’ said Huw ‘and I wished we’d all get better so we could go and play rugby together.’

  ‘I didn’t know we could have two wishes.’

  Huw smiled. ‘Well it’s our last chance, isn’t it? What would you wish if you had another go?’

  Thousands of things went through Alun’s head but the same blank picture kept coming back and the need to fill it. ‘To see my sister of course,’ he said. ‘I’ve forgotten what she looks like.’

  ‘Well, you will,’ said Huw. ‘There’s no doubt about that.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ whispered Alun. ‘My Mam doesn’t trust me. Can you blame her?’

  ‘My Mam trusts you,’ said Huw. ‘So does Ffion. She told me she wants to stay your friend.’

  ‘She’s only five.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter about age. I’m only ten and I want to stay your friend.’

  Why not, thought Alun. He liked Huw. He never seemed to have a hundred questions in his head, a hundred doubts in his heart before he spoke. Then there was the way they had both seen Rhiwallon at the same time as if they shared him.

  The moonlight came back and lit up the nativity figures on the top of the tall chest of drawers by the window. They had all gone into history a long time ago, thought Alun: Joseph and Mary and Jesus, the shepherds and the kings. But they were shared too in a much greater way. Perhaps it was easier to share invisible things.

  ‘I wish they weren’t taking the cupboard,’ said Huw. ‘I’ll feel lost without it.’

  ‘We’ll be going soon,’ said Alun. ‘It won’t matter then.’

  ‘It’ll always matter,’ said Huw tearfully.

  ‘I thought you were the sensible one,’ said Alun.

  It was the first time he felt older than Huw, really older, as if he could look after him like a big brother. He smiled. ‘Anyway, when the hospital closes Sara’s Mamgu will get it back and we’ll all go and see it.’

  ‘You will come and see us when you’re home?’ whispered Huw, out of the blue. ‘You know I live opposite the church in Lammas Street.’

  Wherever home was it no longer seemed impossible.

  You could be friends with anyone of any age, thought Alun, as long as you shared things.

  ‘Of course I will,’ he said. ‘We’ll kick a ball about even if we only have two legs between us. I’ll beat you hollow. You’ll see.’

  Chapter Eight

  MYDDFAI TAKES HIS PLACE

  Mrs Parry took off her gold-rimmed glasses and wiped them. ‘A little announcement,’ she told the children. “They say that although it’s policy to close this hospital, they’ll move us on –’

  Alun couldn’t find the right expression. It always seemed to be like this. You try hard and think you’ve got somewhere and then, bang! They shoot you down, or rather shut you down and move you on.

  Mrs Parry looked at each one of them in turn. ‘Don’t be too sad. We ought to regard it as a triumph that they have taken a decision to move our school over to St. John’s. We might well have sunk without trace. It means, of course, that this will be our very last carol service here. So let’s try and make it something special. You’ve already made some beautiful pictures on our theme of healing – first with the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach and the Physicians of Myddfai and then lately with the story of Christmas. Now I want you to write something more personal, something about each one of you. The last patients in Glan Tywi Hospital School. Any ideas?’

  Alun put Myddfai on the table in front of him, ready to go into the nativity scene. It’s funny, he thought, he’s part of everything: the cupboard, the dreams, Rhiwallon, Huw, Ffion, even Olwen who put that daft pink ribbon round his neck. And all the memories. Especially the memories.

  ‘I could write about Myddfai,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’ said Mrs Parry cheerfully.

  Sara spoke eagerly: ‘I want to write the story of the cupboard. By the way, everybody, Mamgu is going to have it back.’

  ‘Brill!’ said Huw. ‘And I want to write about ghosts.’

  ‘You would,’ said Morgan and turned to Mrs Parry. ‘I’ve been studying the background to the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach. I have already written something on Sir John Rhys –’

  ‘Come again,’ said Bryn and everybody else groaned.

  ‘Could you tell us more?’ said Mrs Parry.

  Morgan brought out a notebook and adjusted his glasses. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Sir John Rhys was elected to the first chair in Celtic at Oxford. In 1861 he wrote a book called The Physicians of Myddvai that became a cornerstone of Welsh Folk Studies. It tells of how Rhiwallon and his sons became physicians to the Lord of Llandovery and Dynefor Castles who gave them rank, lands and privileges at Myddfai – in Sir John Rhys’s words:

  ... For their maintenance in the practice of their art and science, and the healing and benefit of those who should seek their help.’

  He looked up.

  ‘Well done!’ said Mrs Parry. ‘But could you make it a little more personal?’

  Morgan pulled a face. ‘What for?’

  Bryn scratched his shock of red hair. ‘I can’t think of anything to write about except our farm at Christmas time.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Mrs Parry. ‘We might as well all begin. Put the date at the top so we have a record.’

  ‘December 14th,’ said Alun to himself. The day I . . .’

  It was hard to find the right words. It was true his leg wasn’t better and he still had fits of not remembering and his right hand would take a bit longer. But maybe none of that counted. He chewed on the end of his biro thoughtfully. The fact of the matter was, despite everything, he felt different inside, as if he had travelled a thousand miles since the day he had had his accident. Maybe he had.

  He looked at the mirror: It was empty, as blank as his sheet of paper. Rhiwallon had gone and maybe all the ghosts had gone and there was nothing left but this feeling inside him that he would make out, whatever happened.

  He took Myddfai off the locker and began to write.

  The next afternoon a removal van drew up outside the ward. The porters hoisted the cupboard and carried it, swaying, between them. As they walked down the ward the mirror reflected the green pipes, the Christmas decorations and the lights.

  But not Rhiwallon, thought Alun, not any more. He bent over towards Huw.

  ‘You can have this if you like,’ he said, handing him the padlock. ‘The cupboard’s gone and Rhiwallon’s ghost has gone with it. It’s like the end of a story. This will remind you of all that happened.’

  Huw smiled. “Thanks Alun. Souvenir from Glan Tywi!’

  Mrs Williams came up the ward with a basket full of drawing pins and string and sticky tape. ‘You must all help,’ she said. ‘We must get the Nativity Scene up today before the
nurses finish decorating.’

  Soon she was propping up a ladder against the chest of drawers and climbing on top. Alun handed up a section of the scene they had painted and Olwen passed on the string and drawing pins she held in her lap.

  Before long the scene was complete: the hills, the lambs, the sky and Bryn’s big golden star shimmering in the light. On top of the chest of drawers Mrs Williams assembled the little clay figures round a stable that Huw had made out of a cardboard box. Joseph had his back to the Ward. He was facing a cow with very big ears

  – Morgan’s cow. Sara’s sheep was kneeling down because his legs had come off. Four shepherds stood around with their arms stretched out. One had a lamb slung over his back. The three Wise Men were coming into the stable and Mary was standing by the crib where Alun’s baby lay.

  ‘That baby looks alive,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘Why don’t we put Myddfai next to him, like we said. Guarding him.’

  Alun nodded and gave her Myddfai. He was bigger than the lambs and much better formed. It was as if he was their leader and they could lean on him, as he had leaned on Rhiwallon all those days and nights when he was in darkness.

  That evening he sat on the bed with his notebook open on the clipboard that Mrs Parry had given him right at the beginning, when he could barely lift his head. He chewed the end of his biro and decided to use his right hand for the first time. It didn’t matter what it looked like. It didn’t matter about the spelling either for there were still many words he couldn’t remember how to write. Nonetheless he wrote as carefully as he could:

  PERSONAL

  I GAVE AWAY THE KEY NOT JUST BECAUSE IT FITTED THE CUPBOARD. IT WAS TIME TO GIVE IT UP. I HAVE GOT TO LOOK FORWARDS ON MY OWN BECAUSE I DON’T THINK MAM WILL EVER COME BACK AGAIN. MRS WELLSMAN SAID SHE HAD ASKED HER BUT THERE WAS NO-ONE TONIGHT AND I DON’T SEE WHY SHE WILL COME TOMORROW. I DON’T THINK YOU WILL EVER COME BACK IETHER SO I HAVE TO GIVE UP THAT IDEA TO. OR MAYBE YOU WILL. I GAVE MY PADLOCK TO HUW AS A SIGN OF FREINDSHIP. WE SHARED A LOT OF THINGS TOGETHER, ESPECIALLY RHIWALLON. THIS BRINGS ME TO MYDDFAI. I THINK HE HELPED ME TO REMEMBER MANY THINGS THAT I HAD TO FACE. TODAY I WAS TRULY HAPPY FOR THE FIRST TIME FOR MANY MONTHS. IT WAS FUNNY BECAUSE NOTHING MUCH HAPENED. MRS WILLIAMS PUT MYDDFAI BY THE CRIB AND THAT WAS ALL. I CAN’T DISCRIBE HOW I FELT. IT WAS LIKE EVERYTHING I HAD DONE WAS ACCEPTED, AND THERE WAS NO NEED TO WORRY ABOUT ANYTHING.