Winners and Losers

by Catrin Collier

  She felt for the box of matches she kept on her beside cabinet. Sliding it open she removed a match and struck it. The hands on the clock showed two o’clock. Mr Evans had left for the police station before ten –could they have arrested him as well? She lit the candle, pushed her feet into her slippers, slipped on her flannel dressing gown, threw a shawl over her shoulders and walked into the front bedroom that had been Lloyd’s before he’d moved into hers.

  Leaving the candle on the bookshelf next to the door, she went to the window that overlooked the street, hoping to see Mr Evans returning from the police station.

  She jumped back. The street was crowded with shadowy figures in dark capes and helmets. Then, two enormous crashes shook the front of the house, rapidly followed by the tinkling of breaking glass and the harsher sound of splintering wood. Harry screamed. She ran across the landing. He was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, shaking from cold and fear. She gathered him into her arms. Torchlight flickered into the hall below them. The front door swayed drunkenly inwards on its hinges before falling flat into the passage and shattering on the flagstones. Two policemen burst into the hall, both wielding axes. One looked up at her.

  ‘Your name?’

  She stared at him, too traumatized to answer.

  ‘This is William Evans’ house?’

  ‘Yes.’ She finally found her voice but it sounded hoarse, strange. She wrapped her arms around Harry, burying his face in her shoulder, covering the back of his head with her hands.

  ‘Who else is in the house?’ Sergeant Lamb picked his way through the wreckage of what had been the front door. Rain blasted in forming puddles around the debris on the flagstones at his feet.

  ‘No one.’ Sali forced herself to remain calm for Harry’s sake.

  ‘You live here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A woman lodger?’ he queried sceptically.

  Sali heard voices raised in anger outside and realized the police had woken the neighbours. Drawing courage from their presence within earshot, she retorted, ‘I am Mr Evans’ housekeeper.’

  ‘And the child?’

  ‘Is mine.’

  ‘And which of the Evanses’?’

  It was one question too many for Sali. Fear was replaced by anger. ‘Not that it is any of your business, officer, but I am a widow.’

  The sergeant looked to the men behind him. ‘Keep everyone back, well away from the house. You, you, you and you.’ Two officers joined the two already in the hall. ‘You know what to look for. Miscreants in hiding. Letters or papers pertaining to the strike committee or the Federation of Mineworkers. Evidence related to the crimes that have been committed.’

  Furious at having strangers smash down the front door, walk in and ransack the house at that time in the morning, Sali snapped, ‘Do you have a search warrant, officer?’

  ‘A what?’ The sergeant looked up the stairs at her.

  ‘A search warrant,’ Sali reiterated loudly, drawing courage from the noise the neighbours were making outside. She lowered Harry to the floor and pushed him gently towards his room. ‘You can’t take anything from this house unless you have a warrant.’

  ‘I don’t need a warrant, madam. Not for the lair of men who have no respect for the law or its officers.’ Sergeant Lamb began to walk slowly up the stairs towards her. Sali was terrified, but she stood her ground. She was acutely aware of her own heartbeat, of Harry clinging to her legs, of the commotion outside, of crashes and bangs emanating from the downstairs rooms.

  The sergeant reached the landing and stood close to her. ‘You’re as red as the bastards you live with, aren’t you?’ he hissed. ‘And just like them, you think police officers are fair game. Targets to be maimed and even killed. You Marxist bitch -’

  ‘Harry, into your bedroom, shut the door. Now!’ Sali had never spoken roughly to her son before. Frightened, he scuttled into his bedroom.

  ‘Your name?’ Sergeant Lamb barked as if he were on a parade ground.

  ‘Mrs Sali Jones.’

  Hobnailed boots continued to grate and rasp over the flagstones downstairs. A loud smash accompanied by swearing resounded from the kitchen.

  ‘Have you a warrant?’ Sali repeated, shouting in the hope that she could be heard in the street.

  ‘We have men in custody charged with serious crimes. We are looking for evidence.’

  ‘You need a warrant.’ Aware of Harry watching through a crack in his open door, she leaned forward and yelled. ‘Close your door and turn the key, Harry.’ Her foot caught in the hem of her nightdress. The sergeant lifted his hand. Assuming that he was about to hit her, she jumped back and missed her footing. Her knees buckled. She reached out but failed to reach the banister. Stairs, ceiling and walls whirled crazily around her as she tumbled headlong. The last thing she saw was Harry looking down at her and screaming.

  Megan was walking with Victor on Barry Island beach. The sky was a clear, cloudless cerulean blue, the sun was shining, but a cold wind blew around her ankles. The screams of gulls, high-pitched, ear-splitting, drowned out all other sounds. She opened her arms to embrace Victor, the wind blew colder ... the gulls’ screeches grew more piercing ...

  Megan woke with a start. The sheets and blankets had pulled free from the bottom of the mattress and her feet were numb with cold. Tucking them back beneath the bedclothes, she sat up to rub them. Although it was darker than a coalhole, she knew she wasn’t in the box room she shared with Daisy. In the few seconds it took her to recall the events of the previous day, she became aware that her throat was sore and she had a headache.

  The stench of sulphur filled the cold, still air and the gulls stopped screeching. Lena had struck a match, lit a candle and switched off the alarm clock.

  ‘Good morning,’ Megan mumbled thickly.

  ‘Time to lay and light the fires.’ Lena dived out of bed and poured water from the jug on the washstand into the bowl. She splashed her hands and face, dried them on one of the towels draped over the stand and went to the chair on which she’d folded her clothes the night before. She picked up her drawers and pulled them on beneath the cover of her nightgown. Turning her back to Megan, she shrugged her arms out of the sleeves and pulled on her chemise and petticoats under the tent-like, flannel gown, only removing it when she was ready to put on her dress. She buttoned the bodice and sleeves, sat on the side of her bed and rolled on her black stockings, gartering them below her knees.

  Megan peered at the clock. Five o’clock, her normal waking time in her uncle’s house, but she had never been so reluctant to leave her bed. Then she thought of Victor, Joey –and Lloyd. If Mr Evans had managed to get them released last night, Victor may have written her a note. She folded back the sheet and blankets, swung her legs to the floor, padded over to the washstand, tipped the water Lena had used into the slop bucket and poured in fresh.

  ‘Mrs Palmer says there’s no point in washing properly until all the dirty work’s been done for the day.’ Lena watched Megan try to lather soap in the icy water.

  ‘She’s right,’ Megan croaked, taking her flannel from her American oilcloth toilet bag.

  ‘You’re talking funny.’

  ‘I got soaked in the rain last night. I must have caught a cold.’ Megan fingered the black woollen dress she had worn the day before and hung on the back of the door. It was as wet as when she’d taken it off, which was little wonder given the temperature of the room.

  ‘There’s four fires that need seeing to downstairs. I’ll do the ones in the kitchen and Mrs Palmer’s private room. You do the ones in the lodgers’ dining and sitting rooms. Afterwards, all the furniture downstairs has to be dusted and the floors swept while Mrs Palmer makes first breakfast.’

  Her throat too sore to speak, Megan nodded. It was only after Lena had left that she realized the girl had taken the private rooms, leaving her to cope with any lodgers who were around, and after yesterday, the last people she wanted to see were Sergeants Lamb and Martin.

  C
onstable Gwyn Jenkins unlocked the door to the corridor that housed the holding cells of the police station. ‘Number six, you say?’ he called back to the duty officer over his shoulder.

  ‘That’s right.’

  Gwyn unlocked a door halfway along the corridor. Billy Evans and Ned Morgan were sitting on steel beds opposite one another. Their faces were grey with exhaustion, their chins stubbled with beard, but their eyes glittered, darkly antagonistic, as they glared at him.

  ‘Come to see the monkeys in the zoo, Gwyn?’ Billy said bitterly.

  ‘You’re free to go,’ Gwyn muttered shamefacedly.

  ‘We came down here last night to find out why Lloyd had been arrested. The second we set foot in this place we were charged with affray and thrown into this cell.’

  ‘It was a mistake, Billy.’

  ‘So enquiring about someone you lot have arrested and are holding isn’t affray?’ Billy questioned coldly.

  ‘Come on, Billy, Ned. You both know me, and the rest of the local boys. If one of us had been around last night you would never have been put in here. But all I can do for you now is let you out and say sorry.’

  ‘Is that an official apology?’

  ‘You know better than to ask that, Billy,’ Gwyn replied patiently. ‘I can’t speak for anyone else on the force, especially now that half the Met is stationed in Pandy.’

  ‘And Lloyd? Was his arrest a mistake too?’

  ‘Lloyd’s been charged with attempted murder, grievous bodily harm and malicious wounding with intent,’ Gwyn divulged.

  ‘And just who is he supposed to have tried to murder, harm and wound?’ Billy tossed aside the blanket he’d draped over his shoulders.

  ‘All I know is what the duty sergeant told me. I haven’t seen the charge sheet so I don’t know any more. You know the charges against Victor, Joey and Luke?’

  ‘I was there when they were arrested.’ Billy retied the laces he’d loosened on his boots.

  ‘All four of them are down to be brought before Porth magistrates’ court this morning. If you want to be there to support your boys, Billy, you’ll need to go home to wash and change into your best suit,’ Gwyn hinted.

  Billy moved awkwardly towards the door. The cold had seeped into his joints, seizing them.

  ‘The force hasn’t heard the last of this, Gwyn Jenkins,’ Ned Morgan threatened. ‘If your father could see what you’ve become, he’d be ashamed that he’d ever had a son. He was one of the best colliers ever to wield a pick underground and if he was still with us, I know what side of the picket line he’d be on and it wouldn’t be the one with the batons.’

  ‘I’m only trying to earn a living, the same as you, Ned,’ Gwyn protested.

  ‘Fine way to do it, arresting your own kind on trumped-up charges.’

  ‘Can I see the boys?’ Billy asked.

  ‘Not officially, but ...’ Gwyn glanced around before walking to the end of the corridor and locking the door that connected with the rest of the police station. He flicked through the ring of keys he was carrying and opened the door of the first cell in the row.

  Billy and Ned looked over Gwyn’s shoulder to see Joey and Luke, boots on, stretched out on their bunks, wrapped in their overcoats, caps, mufflers and gloves. Victor was standing, looking up through the iron grille at the darkened street.

  ‘You boys all right?’ Billy said gruffly.

  ‘As all right as anyone can be in a cell,’ Victor answered. Joey and Luke opened their eyes.

  ‘Dad, what are you doing here?’ Joey mumbled sleepily.

  ‘Same as you, enjoying a night’s free hospitality. I’ll see you boys in court later on this morning.’ Billy turned to Gwyn. ‘Can I send down shaving gear and clean shirts for them?’

  ‘Send the clean shirts. I’ll arrange for them to have soap, hot water and razors. Someone will be along with breakfast soon, boys.’

  ‘Bread and water,’ Joey suggested acidly.

  ‘Oh, I think we can do better than that.’ Gwyn motioned to Billy and Ned. They stepped back into the corridor and he closed and locked the cell door.

  ‘Lloyd?’ Billy reminded.

  Gwyn walked to the end of the corridor and unlocked the last cell. As soon as he looked inside his face dropped and he stepped back, crashing into the corridor wall. Billy pushed past him.

  Lloyd lay curled on his side on the floor, his face a mass of bruises. His wrists, handcuffed behind his back, dripped blood on to the stone floor. Billy fell to his knees and lifted Lloyd into his arms, cradling him as if he were a child. Lloyd moaned and doubled up, obviously in pain.

  ‘Get a doctor ...’ Billy looked up. Ned was beside him. Gwyn had already charged back down the corridor, keys hanging forgotten in the lock of Lloyd’s cell. He was hammering on the door that connected to the rest of the station.

  ‘You wanted to run errands, Ned,’ Billy said grimly. ‘Get Geoffrey Francis. I want him to see this.’

  The main door opened. Gwyn disappeared. Ned collided with Sergeant Martin. The sergeant passed him and made his way down the corridor to the end cell. His knuckles showed white as he gripped the doorpost and gazed at Lloyd.

  ‘Your boys slipped up, sergeant.’ Billy’s voice was thick, clotted with suppressed emotion. ‘My son is still breathing and if I have anything to do with it, he’ll carry on breathing long enough to see you lot in court.’

  The sergeant continued to stare in silence at Lloyd. If Billy hadn’t known better, he might even have said that Martin looked shocked, sickened and –ashamed.

  Betty Morgan lifted the kettle from the hob of the stove in the Evanses’ kitchen and poured boiling water into the teapot. ‘Well, what’s the damage?’ she asked Nurse Roberts, who was manipulating Sali’s ankle.

  The nurse had just completed a night shift at Llwynypia hospital, but she had examined Sali as if she had all the time in the world. ‘The good news is it’s not broken but it’s a bad sprain. You’ll have to keep off it for a week, Mrs Jones. However, given your other injuries, I’d say you should spend at least that long in bed. You really do need to see a doctor.’

  ‘I’m not that bad,’ Sali insisted.

  ‘Say it often enough and you might even believe it.’ The nurse rose to her feet and studied Sali. The right side of her face was swollen, her jaw was bruised and the skin on the palms of her hands torn and grazed from where she had tried to protect herself when she had landed on the flagstones at the foot of the stairs. ‘I’m worried about your back.’

  ‘You said if I take it easy, it will be fine.’

  ‘Provided there’s no damage to the spinal column,’ the nurse qualified.

  ‘Sit down and have your tea, Nurse.’ Betty pulled a chair out from the table. ‘It will be brewed in a minute.’

  ‘I’m sorry there’s no sugar.’ Sali winced as she took a deep breath. ‘But there’s milk in the pantry and bread and margarine. I could make you some toast.’

  ‘You won’t be making anything for a while, so just sit there and behave yourself.’ Betty had appointed herself in charge of the Evans’ household. Alerted by the commotion the police had made when they had broken down Billy Evans’ door, she had been the first on the scene and the first to break through the cordon of constables when she had seen Sali land at the bottom of the stairs.

  Brushing aside Sergeant Lamb’s exhortations to ‘stay out of matters that don’t concern you’, she, along with half a dozen other women, had stayed to comfort Harry, and care for Sali. The arrival of an audience had curbed the actions of the police, but the neighbours had been unable to prevent the officers from smashing most of the household china and emptying the contents of the cupboards on to the floor. However, they had been in time to witness the removal of several boxes of papers and letters from Mr Evans’ downstairs bedroom.

  Betty went into the parlour and brought out three undamaged cups from the set that the late Mrs Evans had kept for ‘best’. She poured the tea, handed one cup to the nurse and carried one over to Sa
li.

  ‘It’s almost half past six.’ Betty checked the clock. ‘As soon as I’ve drunk this I’ll go round to the Joneses’ house and ask one of the boys to fetch the doctor.’

  ‘There’s really no need. I’m all right.’ Sali sipped the tea, wishing they had sugar.

  ‘It’s no thanks to those damned policemen that you weren’t killed outright. Pushing you down the stairs ...’

  ‘Sergeant Lamb said he’d sue for defamation of character if he heard anyone repeat that allegation. And I can’t in all honesty say that he touched me. The last thing I remember is tripping over the hem of my nightgown.’ Sali’s hand shook and Betty took her teacup from her.

  ‘My Ned swears by the union solicitor, Mr Francis. We need to let him know what’s happened here and ask him to find out where my Ned, Billy Evans and the boys are. There’s no point in any of us going down the police station to make enquiries. Like everyone else who’s gone there in the last twenty-four hours we may disappear, never to be seen again.’ Betty glanced at Harry, who was sleeping, tucked up in an eiderdown, on the second easy chair. ‘It’s a disgrace that a child his age had to see such things.’

  ‘He’s calmed down now, Betty.’ Sali didn’t want to be reminded of Harry’s hysterics or how long it had taken her to get him back to sleep after the police had left the house.

  ‘No thanks to the coppers.’

  ‘There’s no need to send one of the Jones boys for a doctor, Mrs Morgan, I’ll call in and ask him to visit here on my way home.’ Nurse Roberts finished her tea and left the table.

  ‘I still need to send them up to Mr Francis, and you’ll need a carpenter, to sort out the front door and the window in the front bedroom, Sali.’

  ‘They smashed the window?’

  Betty Morgan didn’t have the heart to tell Sali that the police had not only smashed the window in Billy’s bedroom but the one in the middle parlour as well.

  ‘I’m off.’ The nurse fastened her cape.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Sali said gratefully.

  ‘I would say it was my pleasure, but I hope I don’t see you in this state again, Mrs Jones.’