Pontypridd 05 - Such Sweet Sorrow

by Catrin Collier

  ‘Drink?’ Charlie opened the sideboard and brought out the vodka bottle.

  ‘A small one, please.’ Evan looked around. ‘Where’s Alma?’

  ‘Gone to bed to escape my boorishness.’

  ‘I was going to ask how the interview went with the recruiting office, but I think I already know.’

  ‘They don’t want me in their army, but maybe they will find me special duties. Like sweeping their floors, or cleaning their latrines.’

  ‘They didn’t say that.’ Evan took the half-tumblerful of vodka Charlie offered him.

  ‘Not exactly. They won’t make me a soldier but they’ll use me as a spy once they are sure of my loyalties.’

  ‘They didn’t say that either.’

  ‘Not in so many words, but it was obvious. How many countries have you lived in? How many ports have you docked in? How many languages do you speak?’

  ‘Just out of interest, how many do you speak?’

  ‘Now you’re an undercover agent too?’

  ‘Even an uneducated miner like me can see that a man who speaks Russian and English has got to be an asset to the war effort.’

  ‘Particularly when you remember that the Russians marched hand in glove with the Germans into Poland.’

  ‘I can’t see the Fascists bedding down with Communists for the duration.’

  ‘That’s what I told them.’

  ‘But they want to use you as an interpreter?’

  ‘You know I was a seaman?’

  ‘I knew you jumped ship in Cardiff. I presumed you were a seaman not a passenger.’

  ‘I worked on Russian ships and later German ones, mainly the Baltic and the North Sea routes. Like every other sailor I learned the rudiments of as many languages as I could. It was either that, or risk not getting a berth.’

  ‘But you don’t want to work as an interpreter?’

  ‘It’s not what I volunteered for. I want to be an ordinary soldier, like Will and Eddie.’

  ‘The government are utilising people to the best of their abilities, which is why Haydn’s been drafted to ENSA and set to work on the radio. It would be a criminal waste to relegate someone with his stage experience and singing voice to the ranks.’

  ‘A waste – that’s what they said. “It would be a waste, to put someone with your linguistic ability and knowledge of foreign ports in the ranks, Mr Raschenko.”’

  ‘Then it looks as though they have something more than interpreting in mind,’ Evan said shrewdly.

  ‘As long as it remains between me and you, Evan, I think so.’

  Evan pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered Charlie one.

  ‘I don’t mind taking my chances as a foot soldier, but this is something different.’

  ‘You’re worried about Alma?’

  ‘You’ve been a good friend, Evan. You’ve taken me as I am, never asked any questions. There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me. I have another wife.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m living with one woman and married to another.’

  ‘But I didn’t want to leave my first wife. She disappeared. In fact my whole village vanished while I was away one day. I came back to find the houses flattened and the people gone. Officials said they had been resettled in the East. That’s your Communism for you. When I asked too many questions I was arrested and sent to a labour camp. I escaped and became a seaman. For years I continued to look for someone … anyone from my village but I never found a single person. And now Alma is afraid that if I go to fight in this war I’ll find my wife again and forget about her.’ Charlie picked up the vodka bottle and refilled both their glasses, to the brim this time, emptying the bottle. ‘That’s why I wanted to join the ranks. What they want is something else.’

  ‘You think they’ll send you behind enemy lines?’

  ‘If you were in charge, what would you do with a Russian who speaks German, Polish, Finnish, Norwegian and English?’

  ‘Send him behind enemy lines. But you have a right to refuse, Charlie. This isn’t Russia …’

  ‘And have the finger of suspicion pointed at me more than it already is? No, my friend,’ he shook his head. ‘I’ll do what they want me to.’

  ‘And Alma?’

  ‘You’ll look after her?’

  ‘The best I can. You have my word on that.’

  ‘I promised her I’d come back. But that was when I thought I’d be an ordinary soldier.’

  ‘Charlie …’

  ‘Please,’ he lifted his vodka glass. ‘Just look after her. That’s all I ask.’

  It was then Evan realised it was already arranged. Charlie had made his choice. ‘When are you going?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’ He drained his glass in one swallow. ‘I have one more bottle of vodka, what say you we open it, and to hell with the war?’

  Evan rose to his feet. ‘I think you should take it to your wife, tell her what you’ve just told me, and drink it with her.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be wise. She thinks I’m going to translate documents in a country house outside London. You won’t tell her otherwise will you, Evan? There’s no point in her worrying before she has to.’

  ‘I won’t tell her, or anyone.’ Evan rose to his feet and braced himself to receive one of Charlie’s bear hugs.

  ‘Just take care of yourself,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse with vodka and suppressed emotion.

  ‘One more for the road?’

  ‘A small one,’ Evan answered with a forced smile.

  Freda had locked her bedroom door, but the closer she scrutinised the lock, the less she trusted it. It was a box type, screwed below the knob on the inside, and she was afraid that one good push from Harry would dislodge it. She looked around her bedroom for something to wedge against the door. She took a chair and propped it beneath the knob just as she’d seen someone do in a film, but the chair was spindly-legged and she couldn’t see how it would stop a determined man like Harry. Clearing her dressing table of glass bottles and face creams she laid them out on the linoleum. Removing the drawers to lighten the load she dragged it towards the door.

  ‘You all right, Mam?’

  ‘Perfectly well, thank you,’ she called to Jenny through the door.

  ‘I heard a noise.’

  ‘There’s an enormous spider’s web behind the dressing table, I’m pulling it out to clear it.’

  ‘But you hate spiders.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I’m pulling it out. Now go to bed, there’s a good girl.’

  ‘I am not a girl, I’m a married woman,’ Jenny bit back, annoyed by her mother’s tendency to baby her which had become even more pronounced since Eddie had walked out on her. Retreating into her room she slammed the door and picked up her pen to continue yet another letter to her husband. Minutes after she had posted the one she’d written in the shop she had begun to have doubts about its power to affect Eddie, and had taken a clean sheet of paper to start another.

  Freda surveyed the mess she had made of her pristine bedroom. Her perfume, face cream and cut-glass dressing-table set lay strewn over the lino. The dressing table was firmly wedged beneath the door handle, the chair propped in front of it. She had caught the heel of her shoe in the candlewick bedspread and torn it. The blackout curtains that had been hidden behind the dressing table were grey, filmed with dust and stained by damp from the time she had left the window open during a thunderstorm.

  Emotionally and physically drained, she sank down on the bed to catch her breath and compose herself. It was no use: the sight of the dust that had settled on the blackout curtains irritated her. Leaving the bed she caught her heel in the long fringes of the bedspread again and fell headlong among the mess on the floor. Shards of glass and pots of cream skidded over the linoleum, glancing off the skirting boards and the door frame behind the dressing table. She stretched out towards her crystal trinket bowl. She kept the amethyst earrings she had inherited from her grandmother in its satin-lined depths. The lid had dis
integrated in a welter of splinters. And it was all Harry’s doing!

  Tears of rage and frustration coursed down her cheeks as she struggled to her feet, slipped again on a pool of spilt cream and slid towards the earrings, miraculously still intact in their bowl. Her hand closed around the crystal just as the bowl began to waver before her eyes. The room grew dark. Shadows stole inwards from the walls, great, dark, slow-moving mists that gradually blotted the room from view. She lifted her hand to her neck, saw the red on her fingers. Deep red. Blood? It was the last thing she registered before the darkness overcame her. She cried out before slipping downwards through the floor into a wonderfully warm, comfortable world, lined with gossamer grey, miraculously silken and downy to the touch.

  Jenny heard the crash. Still angry, she carried on writing. If her mother couldn’t be bothered to talk to her in a civil manner why should she bother to help clear up whatever disaster had befallen her in the bedroom?

  ‘You’re sure I can’t go to him?’

  ‘There’s no point in you going up the hospital at all, Miss Rees,’ Huw assured Myrtle. ‘Dr John said he was going to operate on your brother. You wouldn’t be able to see Wyn until he came round, and that won’t be until late tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Now the best thing you can do is get a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘But he will be all right?’

  ‘Can you think of a better doctor than Dr John? Or a better equipped hospital than the Cottage?’

  ‘And Miss Powell?’

  ‘Knock on the head and a bit shaken up, that’s all. She’ll be fine in a day or two. Come on over here, and sit down. You’ve had quite a shock.’

  A banging on the wall disturbed Huw just as he was settling Myrtle into a chair.

  ‘It’s my father. I must go to him.’

  ‘He’s in the parlour?’

  She nodded, tight-lipped, trying not to cry.

  ‘Let me tell him.’

  ‘You, but …’

  ‘It’s my job. What I’m paid to do. Now why don’t you make us all a nice cup of tea. I think your father’s going to need it.’

  ‘Yes. Yes of course.’

  Myrtle pulled her old cardigan closer to her as she reached for the kettle in the hearth. She could brew tea automatically, without thinking. And it was a marvellous luxury not to have to make any decisions after hearing the news Constable Davies had brought.

  ‘Constable?’ Mr Rees struggled to sit up in bed as Huw tapped the door and walked in. ‘What’s happened?’ he demanded: a police presence making him think the worst. ‘If that son of mine –’

  ‘He’s hurt, Mr Rees.’

  ‘Someone give him the hammering he deserves?’ The old man’s beady eyes focused on Huw.

  ‘He was knocked down by a van.’

  ‘Serve the silly bugger right. Too slow to get out of the way, I suppose …’

  ‘He saved Diana Powell’s life. If it hadn’t been for your son’s quick thinking and action she would have been mowed down.’

  ‘Is he all right?’ It was the first time the invalid had enquired about his son’s health, and the significance wasn’t lost on Huw.

  ‘Young Dr John is operating on him now. The van went over his legs.’

  ‘And Miss Powell?’

  ‘She’ll be fine in a day or two.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. That girl’s going to be my daughter-in-law.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’ Huw struggled to keep his features impassive.

  ‘Boy’s too dozy to know it yet. But she will, you mark my words. Now tell me, who’s the silly bugger who mowed them down?’

  The key protruded from the lock on Evan Powell’s front door, as it did from the front door of every other house on the Graig. Harry could see its outline, dark against the pale paintwork, but after the conversation he’d had with Evan in the Graig Hotel, Harry didn’t feel he ought to turn it and walk in as he would have with most of the other houses in the street. Instead, he knocked on the door softly, hoping that the sound would carry down the passage to the back kitchen.

  He had to knock twice more before a door opened, and when it did, he heard a burst of music. They were obviously listening to the wireless.

  ‘Who is it?’ Phyllis’s voice echoed down the passage.

  ‘Harry Griffiths.’ Curtain rings grated over a pole, a light switch clicked, and he found himself facing Phyllis, her eyes round, straining into the darkness.

  ‘Can I help you, Mr Griffiths?’

  ‘Huw Davies sent me.’

  ‘Huw? I don’t understand, has Diana or Will …’

  ‘It’s Diana, she’s not badly hurt. But I was there just after the accident happened. I think I ought to see Megan.’

  A door opened behind Phyllis, flooding the passage with light.

  ‘You’d better come in.’

  Harry stepped inside and closed the curtain.

  ‘Is it one of the children?’

  Harry had difficulty in containing his shock. Everyone who had seen Megan had told him she had altered, but he hadn’t been prepared for the sight of the worn, lined old woman in front of him. She could have been her own mother. The hair he remembered as jet black was heavily streaked with grey, the lips creased with age, pain and worry lines, and her once magnificent eyes were weak and watery.

  ‘Huw sent Harry up to tell us about an accident,’ Phyllis faltered.

  ‘Accident!’ Megan’s hand flew to her mouth. As Phyllis helped her into the kitchen Harry saw how frail she was. Evan was right: he had no right to put any more pressure on her, no matter how well-meant.

  ‘Sit down.’ Phyllis indicated a seat next to the table. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  Harry shook his head, conscious of his beer and whisky-laden breath. He told them in as few words as he could, about the accident, and how it had happened.

  ‘… the last thing Diana said was to be sure to tell you she was fine,’ he emphasised to Megan, looking at her and wondering how he could ever have been naive enough to imagine picking up the threads of their relationship as though nothing had happened.

  ‘And you say Andrew is going to bring her home?’

  ‘Probably in the morning. By the look of Wyn Rees he’s going to be in the operating theatre most of the night.’ Harry glanced at Phyllis. It was easier than trying to meet Megan’s clouded eyes. ‘Dr John has sent for his father to take care of Diana. I’m sure they’ll find a bed for her while he operates on Wyn.’

  ‘And Wyn pushed Diana out of the path of the van?’

  ‘There’s no doubt she would have been killed if it hadn’t been for him. Stupid ARP –’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Evan demanded as he walked in.

  ‘Harry came to tell us that Diana’s had an accident,’ Phyllis explained hastily. ‘She and Wyn Rees were knocked down by a van tonight on the Tumble.’

  ‘But she’s going to be fine. Probably be home first thing in the morning,’ Harry said quickly.

  ‘What have the ARPs got to do with it?’

  ‘They requisitioned just about every spare car and van in the town for tonight’s exercise, then they went charging round in them pretending it was an emergency. Anthea Llewellyn-Jones was driving the one that knocked down Wyn and Diana, but Dai Station was with her.’

  ‘The most she’s ever driven in her life is a bicycle,’ Evan pronounced contemptuously. ‘Every time I’ve seen her, the chauffeur or her father has been ferrying her around.’

  ‘Does it matter? What’s done is done.’ Megan was trembling uncontrollably. Evan nodded to Phyllis, a movement so slight, Harry might have missed it if Phyllis hadn’t risen from her seat, opened a door in the sideboard and produced a bottle of brandy.

  ‘I’ll put it in the tea.’ She reached for the kettle and lifted the cover on the hotplate of the stove. ‘I think we all need it.’

  ‘She really was all right,’ Harry insisted. ‘I helped her into Dr John’s car. Her stockings were torn, her skirt dirty, a small cut on her c
hin, her hands were skinned but that was it. Dr John told me to tell you that he was taking her up to the cottage only as a precaution.’

  ‘What about Wyn?’ Evan asked for the first time as Phyllis laid cups out on the table.

  Harry fell silent, not wanting to say too much in front of Megan lest he upset her even more.

  ‘It’s bad?’ Evan pressed.

  ‘The wheels went over his legs.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Megan exclaimed as Phyllis splashed brandy into their cups.

  ‘But from what I could see Dr John was there within minutes. I’m sure he’ll do all he can.’

  ‘Andrew’s a good doctor,’ Evan reassured her.

  ‘His poor father. He was going into the army …’ Phyllis began.

  ‘Then at least his father will have him for a while longer,’ Megan said with a touch of bitterness. ‘If his injuries are as bad as Harry says, he won’t be going anywhere.’

  ‘It’s good of you to walk us home.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Alexander demurred. ‘It’s the least we can do after the nasty shock you and your sister have had.’

  Tina tried telling herself that’s what it was. A shock. No other emotion could explain the way she’d felt when Alexander had put his arm around her shoulders. It was a combination of shock and missing William, that was all. Who had told her that the first few days of absence were the worst? She couldn’t remember. Had she dreamed it?

  ‘I think you and your sister are incredibly courageous.’

  ‘Courageous?’ She looked towards his silhouette.

  ‘Taking over the family business.’

  ‘There’s nothing courageous about that. The family has to eat, and with the boys away we had no option but to take over.’

  ‘Most women would have shut down the cafés.’

  ‘As if Papa would let us. Here we are.’ She turned the corner into Danycoedcae Road. ‘You know where to go?’

  ‘The road below this one?’

  ‘There is a short cut, but I wouldn’t recommend it unless you know the area. It’s the one William used. He grew up here and he was still falling down it last week,’ she added, feeling the need to bring William’s name into the conversation, although she had already talked about her fiancé at length to both Alexander and Luke.