by Jenny Nimmo
The Land Rover had stopped beside the old chapel; the chapel that wasn’t a chapel now, but a home for someone. The gate and the iron railings had been painted pink and gold; the door was blue with big golden flowers on it and bright curtains framed the long windows. When Nia stood up she could see down into the room beyond the window. A boy in green trousers lay sprawled across a rug; he was doing something with his hands, making something, but Nia couldn’t see what it was. Curious, she leant further out, but as she did so the Land Rover suddenly jerked forward. Nia screamed and clutched wildly at the air, trying to keep her balance.
The boy in the chapel looked up in surprise, and then grinned at Nia’s predicament, before Alun caught the back of her jersey and pulled her to safety.
‘What on earth were you doing?’ Nerys, the eldest, inquired tetchily. She felt responsible for incidents in the back of the Land Rover.
‘I was just looking,’ Nia replied.
‘Looking at what?’
‘Just into the chapel. I saw Emlyn Llewelyn from school. I didn’t know he lived there!’
‘Course he does,’ said Alun. ‘Him and his dad. It’s a bad place that!’
‘Who says?’
‘Gwyn says!’
‘Why?’
‘Something happened there, didn’t it?’ Alun said world- wearily.
‘What happened?’ Nia persisted.
‘I donno; something bad! It’s all wrong that place. No one goes there!’
‘It’s beautiful!’ Nia protested. ‘And I like Emlyn.’
‘You don’t know, do you?’ Alun said in a grim and rather condescending manner.
Nia was silent. Why had she defended Emlyn? She hardly knew him. He was in Alun’s class and nearly two years older than herself. She wished she had been able to see further into his strange home.
Outside Pendewi the caravan turned left on to the sea road, and the Land Rover continued on, down into the little market town.
Sunshine flooded the High Street. The trees were in blossom and Saturday shoppers in bright spring clothes, bustled in and out of the narrow grey-tiled houses. It wasn’t such a bad place after all, Nia thought.
The Lloyds parked outside a tall black and white building at the furthest end of the town. There was a huge blue van in front of them, with removal men in grey overalls munching sandwiches in the cabin. The furniture was all in place.
There were two entrances; one that led into a shop furbished with red carcases and neat trays of sliced meat; the other, a very private-looking black door with a brass number six on it.
The family went into their new home through the black and private door, leaving it open to allow warmth and light into the dark house.
Mr Lloyd persuaded the reluctant and grumbling Fly down a long passage to the back garden. Mrs Lloyd sank into a sunny chair by the door; she was still carrying the red geranium.
The four boys clattered noisily up the stairs and along the creaking and uncarpeted landing, eager to break into boxes that had been withheld for weeks; to find ancient and beloved toys and strew them across floorboards of unfamiliar rooms and make them theirs, their fortress and their home.
Nerys, Nia and Catrin stood before their mother, flushed and still pretty in her flowery smock.
‘Well, I think it’s upstairs first, girls. When the clothes are in the drawers and the beds are made, we’ll have a cup of tea.’
Nia followed her older sisters upstairs. Nerys and Catrin disappeared into a room overlooking the High Street. Nia glimpsed a wide sunlit window before the door was closed against her.
Opposite her sisters’ room, Siôn, Gareth and Alun had already extended their territory. A wooden railway track snaked through their open door, and along the landing. Nia side-stepped, too late! She tripped and a red engine flew across the floor.
‘Watch it!’ the twins sang out. ‘Nia-can’t-do-nothing! Nia- in-the-middle! Nia’s got a funny tooth, and her nose goes squiggle, squiggle!’
Nia was fed up with the twins’ new rhyme, but she couldn’t think of a suitably clever retort. It was all true, of course, that was the worst of it. They’d got her, pinned her down like a butterfly on a board, only she was more of a moth; a very ordinary brown moth who wasn’t good at anything except screwing up her nose when she didn’t understand. A moth in the middle; with two butterfly sisters and an older brother who could mend anything; with two younger brothers who could stand on their heads, and an even younger one who got by just because he was the youngest, and had curls.
She retrieved the red engine and put it into Siôn’s hand. ‘It’s Iolo’s engine, anyway,’ she said.
The twins allowed Nia to escape without further aggravation. She continued down the corridor until she reached two open doors at the end. To her left, the bathroom, bright with sunlight and frosted glass. Iolo was playing with something in the basin; little waves of soapy water were spilling over on to the floor.
Let someone else find the puddle! Leaving Iolo in peace Nia turned to the room on her right; the room she was to share with Iolo. There were no spaces left for her in her sisters’ room and none for Iolo in his brothers’. They would have to put up with each other for the time being. As they had grown in size and number, the Lloyd children had become used to an annual re-arrangement of bedrooms. If the new baby was a girl, Nia would share her bright little room at the top of the house, if not, Iolo would move in with the new brother and Nia would stay here, in this small, shadowy room, that had an old and unused air about it.
The window looked out on to the back garden, a garden in shadow with hardly a blade of grass. There was the river to look at though, splashing over bleached pebbles beyond the garden wall. And, on the other side of the river, Morgan-the- Smithy’s long black barn with blue sparks lighting the windows, and Morgan and his sons singing in green boilersuits.
Next year there would be flowers growing by the river. Nia fumbled in her pockets and brought out a tiny paper parcel. She carefully unfolded the paper and laid on the floor a part of T Llr: honesty seeds in their flat, silvery shells, tiny black poppy and campion seeds, all mixed together, so that when she sowed them next spring, the meagre little patch below would be splashed with orange and purple and pink.
‘What’s that?’ Iolo had finished with boats and stood dripping in the doorway.
‘Seeds,’ Nia replied. ‘You’d better dry yourself and the floor, or you’ll get a row.’
‘I can’t find a towel,’ Iolo explained.
Nia could hear her mother moving about in the room above them. ‘I’ll look downstairs for you; Mam had them in the hall.’
‘I need something to eat too,’ Iolo informed her.
‘I’ll see.’
Nia tucked her precious seeds back into a pocket and went downstairs.
Sunlight was streaming through a semi-circle of stained- glass above the front door. The hall was lined with a clutter of cases, bags and upturned chairs, but in the centre there was only one thing; a box, the box! Nia recognised it; it contained Mam’s clothes from twenty years before; dresses that were too tight, but too full of memories to throw away; shoes too flimsy, beads too bright for a mother of seven. It was like a gift, wrapped in the glowing colours from the stained-glass window. A gift for Nia-can’t-do-nothing, who could now become Nia-can-do-anything!
Forgetting Iolo and towels, Nia knelt beside the box and began to pick at the string that held it shut. The string fell off and she opened the box. Almost reverently she began to lift out the contents and lay them on the floor.
There were shouts from above and around Nia but, amazingly, no one came into the hall. Catrin had found the piano and was practising her scales. Fly was whining somewhere.
‘Someone take the dog out!’ Mr Lloyd shouted from the shop.
No one answered.
Nia had found a violet dress, patterned with pink and white flowers. She stood up and slipped it over her head. The hem touched the ground. She knelt again and scrabbled in the box, tryin
g to find the thing she needed. There it was – a wide- brimmed red straw hat. And now she could feel the little paper bundles of beads and shoes at the bottom of the box. She drew out a rope of big silver shells and a pair of pink shoes with stars on them.
Nia kicked off her trainers and stepped into the pink shoes; the violet dress covered them; she would trip. The silver shells would have to become a belt. They encircled her waist perfectly, not a shell too long. Nia hitched the dress a few inches over the shell-belt, just enough to reveal the shoes. She was almost ready.
The finishing touch was a long string of multi-coloured beads wound once, twice, three times round her neck.
Catrin moved on from Mendelssohn to Mozart and Fly’s distant whine became a long, low howl.
‘Someone take that poor dog for a walk,’ Mrs Lloyd pleaded from a box-lined room upstairs.
‘I’ll go,’ answered Nia.
‘Don’t let her off the lead; she’s not used to the town,’ came a voice muffled by mounds of linen. ‘And don’t go into any shops.’
‘I won’t!’
‘Poor thing! She can’t stay here much longer.’ The rest of Mrs Lloyd’s words were drowned by Fly’s howl of agreement.
Nia tottered down the passage and opened the back door. Four stone steps led down into the yard. Fly was tied to the rail beside the steps, with just enough lead to allow her to stretch out, head on paws, in a tiny patch of sunlight that had managed to creep round the house. The dog leapt up when she saw Nia, and barked joyfully.
‘Sssh!’ Nia knew her father would not approve of her outfit if he saw her. She began to untie Fly’s lead, all the while eyeing the long room that extended into the yard beyond the rest of the house; the hateful room that held all those dead and dreadful things. Through the tiny window she glimpsed a red carcase, swinging where her father had just hung it. Mr Lloyd was whistling; happy among his sides of beef, his lamb chops and purple pigs’ livers. Poor dead, dismembered creatures. It was enough to put you off meat forever.
‘Ugh!’ Nia could even smell them.
Fly, free at last, bounded up the steps, dragging Nia behind her. They flew down the passage and through the hall, Fly scattering discarded cardboard and all the rubbish of removal, Nia sliding and tripping in the outsize pink shoes.
Nerys appeared at the top of the stairs, alerted by the commotion. ‘Nia, what are you . . .?’
But Nia had opened the front door and leapt through it before her sister had time to take in her appearance.
Fly began to live up to her name; her paws barely touched the ground as she tore joyfully up the street.
The pink shoes hadn’t a chance; first one flew off and then the other. Nia dared not stop to retrieve them for fear of choking Fly. Clasping the red hat to her head with her free hand, she careered after the dog, darting between startled shoppers and shouts of, ‘Watch it!’ ‘Mind the pram!’ ‘Where are you going, girl?’ ‘Good God, what’s she doing?’
Not a very favourable first appearance, Nia thought.
Fly bounded on, back towards T Llr and the mountain fields. The road became steeper and, at the end of the town, the dog stopped and stared mournfully up the hill, her sides heaving and her long tongue hanging out like a wet flag.
Nia dropped down beside Fly, in worse shape than the dog. They sat side by side on the hot paving stones, gasping and panting. Nia felt as though she’d spent a month in the desert. She closed her eyes and leant against Fly’s woolly neck. When she opened them again a few moments later, she found herself looking at a shop window, and at a boy moving past the window and into the shop; he was a tall boy with thick brown- gold hair and green trousers – the boy from the chapel.
Afterwards, Nia could never remember whether it was thirst or curiosity that led her to follow him. Whatever it was, she forgot all the rules, all the warnings about sheepdogs in shops, and followed Emlyn Llewelyn through the door.
The wide back of a woman in brown obliterated most of the counter. The wide woman was whispering to the shopkeeper, a man in red braces and a grubby shirt, who seemed more interested in gossip than business. Nia had time to contemplate the rows of sweets and biscuits before making a decision. She spied cans of fruit juice on the highest shelf. On the other side of the shop, Emlyn Llewelyn was bending over tubes of glue.
‘Yes?’ The shopkeeper was staring suspiciously at Nia.
The wide woman had rolled back, propping herself up on the counter; she was staring at Nia’s bare feet.
Nia tried to smile but instead screwed up her nose.
‘I want a drink, please!’ she said quickly.
‘Get what you want then. Can you reach?’
‘I think so.’ Nervous of the disapproving glances Nia thoughtlessly let the loop of Fly’s lead slip down her arm, and reached for a can of orange juice. Just as her fingertips touched the can, two more customers entered the shop. Fly panicked; she leapt away from the shelves growling anxiously. Nia was jerked backwards, her heel caught in the hem of the violet dress and she tumbled to the floor, followed by a pile of cans. Suddenly the whole top shelf became possessed. Cans and bottles tottered and clinked and began to roll towards her. There was nothing Nia could do to halt that dreadful and inexorable shower of cans. Some fell on top of her, some crashed to the ground and others were caught by a darting figure in green trousers. She was aware of the shopkeeper hopping up and down beside her, kicking out at the barking Fly and screaming, ‘Who’s going to pay? Look at the shop!’ and low voices murmuring, ‘It shouldn’t be allowed!’ ‘She’s no shoes!’ ‘And look at the hat!’ ‘What’s her mam thinking of?’ ‘Get the dog out!’ ‘No shoes! No shoes!’
And then a boy’s voice said, ‘It isn’t a crime, having no shoes!’ and Emlyn Llewelyn stepped forward, holding Fly tight by the collar. ‘Only two cans are damaged,’ he said, ‘and we’ll buy those. Come on!’ He tapped Nia on the shoulder and held out his free hand.
Nia looked up. Emlyn had never spoken to her before; he had golden eyes, like a lion.
‘Come on!’ commanded Emlyn Llewelyn.
Nia put her hand in his and he helped her to her feet.
‘You’d better hold your dog,’ he said, ‘and pull your dress up or you’ll trip again.’
Nia obeyed and Emlyn placed a pile of coins on the counter. Then he strode out of the shop, dragging Nia with him.
‘I owe you for the drink,’ said Nia when the door had been closed against reproachful mutterings.
‘That’s OK!’ Emlyn said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ Nia lied. Her shins ached where the cans had hit them. ‘But I’m thirsty.’
‘Have it on me,’ Emlyn held out a can. ‘Dog looks thirsty too. It’s a nice dog. What’s its name?’
‘Fly,’ Nia replied, ‘and it’s a she.’ She opened the can and tipped it to her lips, gulping and coughing as the fizzy drink trickled down her throat.
Emlyn watched her for a moment, politely refraining from mentioning the splutters, then he asked, ‘Why don’t you bring Fly up to my place and give her a drink?’
‘I don’t think I’d better,’ Nia said. ‘I must find Mam’s shoes. They fell off when I was running, and they’ve got stars on them.’
‘OK!’ Emlyn accepted her refusal almost too fast, as though he expected it. He kicked the ground with the heel of his sandal and looked away from her.
And suddenly Nia remembered what Alun had said about the chapel, ‘Nobody goes there – something happened – it’s no good!’ and she suddenly found herself saying, ‘All right! I’ll come, just for a bit!’
She could see that Emlyn was more than pleased, but trying hard not to show it. ‘Good!’ he said. ‘Can I take the dog?’
Nia handed him Fly’s lead. ‘I wanted to see inside your place,’ she said.
Emlyn grinned. ‘I thought I recognised you, spying on us. You’re Alun’s sister, aren’t you? You look different in all that stuff. I wasn’t sure.’
Nia giggled. ‘I nearly
fell out, didn’t I?’
‘What’s going on? How is it you’re in jeans one minute and then beads and a funny hat?’
‘We’ve moved,’ said Nia. ‘“Moved with the times!” That’s what my dad says.’
They began to walk up the hill. Fly too hot and thirsty now to run, and Emlyn striding out faster than the dog. Nia had to take little running-hopping steps in order to keep up with the boy and to avoid loose stones on the ground.
Once a van passed on the other side of the road, its engine coughing as it strained up the hill, and Fly rushed at it barking furiously, just as she used to do when strangers passed T Llr.
‘She doesn’t like cars and that sort of thing,’ Nia explained breathlessly. ‘She wants to go home, like me. Only it isn’t home any more; the farm, I mean, where we come from.’
‘Where did you come from?’
‘T Llr, on the mountain. Dad didn’t like it, the work was too rough; sheep kept dying and that in the winter, and Mam said the house was too small with another baby coming, but you’d have thought she’d want to stay, being as it was her home all her life, she was even born there. Nobody wanted to stay except me and Fly. I planted flowers there, see. I like to watch things grow and all the colours.’
‘Are there a lot of you?’ Emlyn inquired. He was gazing intently at Fly and, for a moment, Nia wondered if he really wanted an answer.
‘Seven!’ she replied. ‘Seven children, that is, and I’m in the middle, right in the very middle. Nerys is the oldest, she’s clever and quite pretty, but Catrin is beautiful. She called herself Kate last year, she thought it sounded more romantic but now she’s Catrin again; she plays the piano and her hair is – oh . . .’ Nia sighed, ‘all pale yellow and floating, like . . . like ash trees.’
Emlyn looked at her with interest but he said nothing and Nia began to wonder if she’d talked too much. She’d never been able to express herself before and couldn’t think how it had come about. They walked on in silence until they reached the pink and gold railings of the chapel and all at once Nia began to feel afraid. Fly was apprehensive too; she kept making worried rumbling noises in her throat.
