Riding the Storm Susan Holliday
To ‘the old boys’ with love PIP POLLINGER IN PRINT Pollinger Limited 9 Staple Inn Hol...
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Riding the Storm Susan Holliday
To ‘the old boys’ with love PIP POLLINGER IN PRINT Pollinger Limited 9 Staple Inn Holborn LONDON WC1V 7QH www.pollingerltd.com First published by Pont Books 2000 This edition published by Pollinger in Print 2007 Copyright © Susan Holliday 2000 All rights reserved The moral right of the author has been asserted A CIP catalogue record is available from the British Library ISBN 978-1-905665-22-8 No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise, without prior written permission from Pollinger Limited
CONTENTS Preface: A story THE LADY OF LLYN Y FAN FACH
7
Chapter One WAKING UP
13
Chapter Two THE CHALLENGE
32
Chapter Three HURRICANE
54
Chapter Four THE CONFESSION
69
Chapter Five BREAKING THE SILENCE
85
Chapter Six THE VISIT
101
Chapter Seven SARA’S RETURN
118
Chapter Eight MYDDFAI TAKES HIS PLACE
139
Chapter Nine THE CAROL SERVICE
154
The fairy tale is like a good angel, given us at birth to go with us from our home to our earthly path through life, to be our trusted comrade throughout the journey and to give us angelic companionship, so that our life itself can become a truly heart- and soulenlivened fairy tale. Ludwig Laistner (1848-1896)
Preface: A story
THE LADY OF LLYN Y FAN FACH Many years ago, some people say in the twelfth century, there lived a poor widow, near Llanddeusant, in Carmarthenshire. She had an only son who was well built and good looking. Every day he drove his mother’s cows up the side of the Black Mountain, to graze. One day he came to the edge of a deep lake called Llyn y Fan Fach. Imagine his surprise when he saw a beautiful young girl standing on the calm surface of the water. She was singing softly to herself and arranging her golden, curling locks. Shyly he held out a piece of his barley bread, hoping that she would take it from him. She came to the edge of the lake but no further, saying as she came: Cras dy fara Nid hawdd fy nala! (Hard baked is thy bread, Hard it is to catch me!) With these words she dived away out of sight. The young man was instantly overcome with love for her. That night when he had brought his cattle safely home and he was sitting by the fireside with his mother, he told her all about the beautiful young girl. 7
‘She must be one of the Tylwyth Teg (the fairies), my boy,’ said his mother. ‘Take with you some unbaked dough tomorrow and see if that will tempt her.’ Early on the following morning her son once more drove the cows up to the lake. All day long he waited but the young girl did not appear. However, just as he was giving up all hope, one of the cows strayed rather too close to the edge. It slipped into some soft mud and fell. The young man rushed to help the cow, and as he did so, the beautiful young girl once more rose out of the lake. With shining eyes he held out his bread, unbaked this time. But again she refused it, saying: Llaith dy fara Ti ni fynna! (Too moist is thy bread, I will not come to thee!) With these words she plunged back into the lake. Early next morning the cowherd went back to the lake once more, this time bringing bread that was neither too moist nor too hard. The young girl appeared again and she seemed to be very pleased with the moderately baked bread. There and then she took it and agreed to be his wife. 8
‘Before we are married there is one thing I must tell you,’ she said. ‘You must never on any account whatsoever strike me three blows without cause. If you do I shall go and never return.’ She plunged back into the waters and within a few minutes, a grey-bearded old man arose from the lake. With him were his three daughters who were all exactly alike! ‘These are my daughters,’ he said. ‘If you can pick out the one you asked to be your wife, then you shall have her.’ The young man was puzzled. He really couldn’t tell one daughter from the other. Then he remembered his lover had worn fine, laced sandals so he looked down at their feet. To his joy one of the girls was wearing sandals while the others were barefoot! What was more, the one with the sandals thrust out one of her feet as if to catch his attention. ‘That is the girl I want to marry,’ he said. ‘You’ve made the right guess,’ said the old man, ‘Take her, and with her I will give you plenty of cattle so you will never want for anything. But remember this: never strike her without cause. If you strike her three times for nothing, on the third time she will leave you.’ As the young couple went down the slope of the hill they were followed by herds of 9
cattle who came out of the lake and walked five by five. For a long time all went well. Then one day the young couple were invited to attend a christening, some distance away. The husband fetched a horse so they could ride, and as he helped his wife on to the horse’s back, he tapped her with his glove, playfully on her shoulder, crying out, ‘Dere! Brysia!’ which means ‘Hurry.’ She gazed at him with sadness in her eyes. That was the first of the three blows! As time passed three sons were born to them. They were very handsome and very clever too. The eldest who was the most handsome and the most clever was called Rhiwallon. One day the man and his wife went to a wedding. While everyone was celebrating the wife began to cry loudly. Her husband tapped her gently on the shoulder and said: ‘Why are you crying?’ ‘That is the second time you have given me a blow without cause,’ she sighed. ‘The third time, remember, I shall leave you.’ Her husband felt very cross with himself for having been so thoughtless, but as time wore on, he almost forgot about it. Then one day, years afterwards, he and his wife were present at a funeral in the 10
house of another neighbour. Without a word of warning, his wife burst out laughing. ‘Why do you laugh when everyone else is crying?’ asked her husband. But she didn’t stop laughing so he patted her on the shoulder, and asked her again what was the matter. This was the third blow! ‘When people die they leave their troubles behind,’ said his wife, ‘and so do I.’ As suddenly as she had entered his life, she left him. She chanted the following rhyme so that her cows would follow her: Brindled cow, white speckled, Spotted cow, bold freckled, with the White Bull From the court of the King, And the little black calf That is hanging on the hook, Come thou also, quite well home! And the little black calf that had just been killed, and was hanging from a hook, became alive and well and followed the rest of the herd. They went back into the waters of Llyn y Fan Fach and disappeared, never to be seen again. They say the husband died soon afterwards of a broken heart. As for the sons, they used to walk by night round the edge of the lake in 11
the hope of seeing their mother again. One night she appeared to them near what is now called Llidiad-y-Meddygon, the Doctors’ Gate. She told her eldest son Rhiwallon that he and his brothers must learn how to heal the sick. Later on, she appeared again, this time at Pant-y-Meddygon, the Doctors’ Dingle, and showed her sons plants and herbs that were well-known for their powers of healing. Rhiwallon and his brothers became renowned physicians and their fame spread through the length and breadth of the land. The graves of the Physicians of Myddfai can still be seen in the little churchyard in the village of Myddfai that nestles at the foot of the Black Mountain.
12
Chapter One
WAKING UP At first Alun didn’t know who he was. He struggled up from some dark prison, deaf, blind, bars over his legs and ankles. Then he heard muffled sounds and a sharp anxious voice he recognised. It was Mam’s voice pulling him up and up as if its sharpness cut cords and sent him floating above the prison. ‘Alun, Alun, I can’t wait much longer!’ He opened his eyes and knew immediately he was Alun Roberts. But he didn’t know where he was or why he was there. Mam smiled and he felt happy, because for some reason he had been expecting her to frown. She stood beside his bed, holding her handbag tightly, upright in her close-fitting black dress. Her hair was fairer than he expected, her mouth thinner. ‘I just had to make sure you were . . .’ She paused. ‘You look a right sight with all those bandages and no hair to speak of and so pale. But at least your eyes are open and that’s the main thing. Tony will be in next. Before I go, is there anything you want?’ He watched her move to the end of the bed. His steel padlock floated into his mind, his little key. At least he remembered they were safe in his bedroom in the second drawer 13
down, under the tee-shirts they had bought at the car rally in Cardiff. His secret drawer. Where did it come from, this sudden clear flash of memory? Mostly he remembered nothing. His voice came out in a whisper: ‘My padlock.’ Mam nodded. ‘I’ll tell Tony to bring it in. It’s all that’s left, I can tell you that.’ What did she mean, all? He struggled to remember, but she was going, and he couldn’t find words. ‘I must get going,’ she said stiffly, waving goodbye. He shut his eyes again and felt he was drifting back to the prison, where pain tapped like a stick in the dark. ‘Don’t go to sleep,’ said a cheerful voice. The young boy in the next bed was holding out a doughnut. ‘For tea. Don’t you want any?’ His friendly voice cut away more of the mystery. ‘The food’s good in this hospital.’ Alun lifted his head. It felt heavy. A bandage stopped just above his eyes. His right arm was in a sling. His legs were held down by weights. His voice scraped like an old man’s. ‘How long have I been here?’ The boy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Mrs Parry told me you had your op yesterday 14
morning. But you’ve only been next to me since last night.’ Alun watched the boy eat his doughnut and drink his milk. He wore a red rugby shirt decorated with a giant leek. He was sitting on the bed with an exercise book on his lap. ‘What’s your name?’ asked the boy. ‘Alun. What’s yours?’ ‘Huw. Huw Gwynne. I broke my left leg playing rugby. Now they’ve found something wrong with the other one.’ Alun tried to sort himself out though it was not like him to ask questions. ‘I know I’m coming up fourteen,’ he said slowly, ‘but I don’t know where I am.’ ‘Glan Tywi – the hospital school ward. You know, near Carmarthen –’ Alun looked at the green pipes along the ceiling and the red flowered curtains drawn back at the bottom of his bed. Beyond there was a row of beds and beyond that the sound of babies crying. With difficulty he turned his head to the right. He saw a tall chest of drawers by the window and a big old cupboard with a glinting mirror against the far wall. A small thin lady bustled among a group of children, collecting books and putting them into brown bags. One girl with fair hair was in a wheelchair with her legs covered. She looked familiar. Others were sitting round a table, talking loudly. 15
‘You got off school today,’ said Huw grudgingly. The thin lady looked up and came across, all smiles. ‘Not for long,’ she said, leaning over Alun. ‘In a day or two you’ll feel up to it . . .’ She had a fine tiny face and a kind smile. ‘I’m Mrs Parry. Mrs Williams helps me run the smallest school you’ve ever been in. At the moment we have two girls, Sara and Olwen – both from your old school. Then there’s Morgan, our memory man; Huw is next to you and Bryn the redhead is over there. He tells me he’s going to be a farmer. Not an easy life these days, as my husband would say, but Bryn is quite certain that is what he wants to be.’ Alun felt confused. He looked at the bed opposite where the ginger-haired boy was eating and reading. Then he found himself lifting his gaze above the boy to a small dusty pane that might never have been opened. It reminded him of the window in the kitchen larder where – but his mind was in a muddle and all he could see was Mam with her back to the larder, warding off Dad, and Tony hiding inside, unable to get out. He forced himself to watch Mrs Parry again. She had moved over to the next bed and was putting Huw’s exercise book into a 16
brown bag. Huw lay back with a comic. ‘Aberflyarff,’ he said, ‘talk about a laugh-aminute rugby club.’ Alun couldn’t understand. He painfully lifted himself up on one elbow and watched Mrs Parry disappear from sight. The afternoon sun lay across the beds. Its rays collided and crumpled on the cupboard mirror, shining like silver foil. Above the cupboard a cobweb networked up to the ceiling. A spider was sitting up there, a tiny black blob. Alun winced with pain and collapsed back. He shut his eyes: Tony was the spider in the web and Dad was the fly. ‘Looking better,’ said Tony cheerfully. He was too big for the chair. His leather jacket strained over his stomach and he undid the buttons. He pushed his greased black hair away from his red face and rubbed his blunt shiny nose. ‘Thought I wasn’t going to make it,’ he said. ‘Road-works everywhere. Can’t move for orange cones.’ ‘Did you bring it?’ Tony clapped his thick hand over his mouth then stuck his finger in the air. ‘Here we go.’ He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets. He pulled out the padlock and put it on the locker. 17
‘It’s no use to you now,’ he said looking doubtfully at Alun. ‘I’ll put the key in the drawer so it’s safe and sound.’ ‘I can’t reach the padlock up there,’ said Alun. ‘Can you tie it to my wrist?’ ‘You must be joking,’ said Tony. ‘You haven’t much of a wrist left.’ ‘Please.’ It was important to have it close to him so no one could take it away. ‘Here we go then.’ Tony reached down in his pocket and came up with a handful of string and elastic bands. ‘Always come in handy.’ He threaded two elastic bands through the steel loop of the padlock and circled Alun’s left wrist. ‘Won’t it pull on these bruises?’ Alun drew in his breath. The touch of the padlock brought back a vivid image of his mountain bike. Shining handlebars, blue crossbar, silver mudguards. ‘What happened to my bike?’ he asked, trying hard to remember. ‘Scrapped,’ said the coarse, cheerful voice. ‘It came but of the accident worse than you. Mangled up. October 20, a bike. October 21, scrap yard material.’ Alun’s mind slumped. ‘I want to go to sleep,’ he whispered. He closed his eyes and put his bike together again. It gleamed; the spokes of its 18
wheels were sharp and silver. It was chained to the railings, a leashed animal ready to go. He moved his wrist so that the padlock flopped into the palm of his hand. He tightened his fingers round it. He wouldn’t let it go, not for anything. There was nothing else left of the bike. Or of Dad, for that matter. ‘You were lucky to come out of that little packet alive,’ Tony said, helping himself to the green grapes on the locker. ‘Cheer up. You’re going to get better.’ Alun hated the way Tony sat there eating, his red hands on his thighs, his brown eyes darting. He didn’t want to talk, least of all about the blank that surrounded the pictures in his mind, the blackness he couldn’t escape. After another long silence, Tony stood up. ‘I’ll come again when you’ve got more to say for yourself.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I got a removals early tomorrow. Got to plan the route, with all that traffic. Have a good rest, Alun. They say there’s nothing like sleep.’ Alun sank back. He was in a prison at the foot of a black mountain, so tall it cut off all possibility of light. The prison windows were blocked with bars of pain; the bed was covered with thistles. Tony had gone where he belonged – back to Bath, and Dad was 19
standing there with a sad, lopsided look on his pale face. He was speaking very slowly in Welsh but Alun couldn’t hear the words. He woke in the middle of the night. A baby was crying in the next ward and busy footsteps passed his bed. He lifted his head but the pain slumped him back on the pillow. He tried to remember what had happened but nothing much came into his mind. Perhaps he had lost his memory forever. Then he remembered a great wind rushing in his ears as he whizzed down the hill to the station. The sound hung in his mind without any rhyme or reason. He turned towards the cupboard where the mirror gleamed in the lamplight – or was it moonlight that came through the flimsy blue curtains? He groped for the name of the hospital. Glan Tywi, that was it. And Tony had come. But not Mam. Not this time. His eyes filled with tears. For some reason he thought Mam might never come again. His thoughts were interrupted by Huw in the next bed who suddenly sat up and stared intently at the cupboard. He turned to Alun and whispered excitedly: ‘You awake?’ ‘Yes.’ The night light caught the top of Huw’s black spiky hair and the shoulders of his bright red pyjamas. 20
‘He’s there!’ whispered Huw, putting his fingers to his lips. ‘Who?’ ‘Rhiwallon. In the cupboard mirror over there . . .’ Alun looked as if he didn’t understand and Huw went on urgently. ‘In class Mrs Parry was reading us “The Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach”. Rhiwallon was one of her sons. He was a physician. You know, from up in the Black Mountain. He became a ghost.’ ‘I don’t know and I don’t believe in ghosts,’ said Alun under his breath, but he was intrigued and when Huw leaned further and further forward he said, ‘Move back then. You’re in the way, aren’t you?’ Huw flopped against his pillows and Alun stared at the mirror. All he could see was the reflection of the moonlight crunched into a silver nugget. Behind, there were shadows that reminded him of the prison in which he lay. And behind them other shadows that led his imagination deeper and deeper into that night when the wind had blown him off his bike. He still couldn’t remember why he was going down Castle Hill at such a speed but he could see himself whizzing down, the wind in his hair, its strange high boom inside his head as if it was the sound of his own voice. 21
He brushed his cheek with his good hand and the padlock grazed his skin. Huw’s voice seemed far away. ‘. . . Rhiwallon became a healer and his sons after him. You must have heard of the physicians of Myddfai. Believe me Alun, that’s his ghost in the cupboard. I know it’s him because he’s holding a black calf. Don’t you understand, he’s come to heal us!’ Alun stared at the nugget of light, the shooting rays. He wasn’t sure what Huw was talking about. ‘Don’t be thick, it’s moonlight,’ he said, flatly. Huw pushed himself up slowly, easing his plastered leg. ‘I’m not thick. He’s still there. Can’t you see his face?’ But the pain was in the way and Alun groaned; he couldn’t help himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Huw, ‘I forgot. Do you want anything?’ I want the pain to stop, thought Alun, I want to know why my head is blank and black. I want to know where my Dad is. But he said nothing – for in a funny way Huw was cheering him up and he wanted him to go on. ‘How old are you?’ he asked Huw. ‘Ten. Why?’ ‘That’s it then,’ said Alun. ‘I’m older, see. It’s different. When I was ten I believed in –’ What did he believe in? 22
‘Father Christmas?’ asked Huw. ‘Of course not.’ ‘God?’ ‘Don’t be daft. Well, my dad did, so –’ ‘I do. God I mean, not Father Christmas. We all do in my family. Mam has a lot to do with the church. But only my little sister believes in Father Christmas. She’s five. She’s called Ffion –’ ‘Does she believe in ghosts like you?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said Huw, looking back at the mirror. ‘Anyway, it’s not just believing. I’ve seen Rhiwallon with my own eyes.’ He stared at the mirror. ‘He’s gone now, though.’ ‘It’s your imagination,’ said Alun irritably. He had enough on his plate without a ghost story. But Huw smiled. ‘Mrs Parry will get you to read the story tomorrow then you’ll understand more. We’re going to do our own projects on it. You must join in.’ ‘Hate school,’ said Alun half to himself. ‘You won’t hate this one,’ whispered Huw. ‘It’s more like – well – it’s hard to describe. We have to work and everything but it’s so small.’ ‘I’ll never like school,’ said Alun. They fell silent as the nurse’s footsteps came back from the babies’ ward. She stopped by Alun and smiled and patted his head as he told her about the pain. 23
‘I’ve got something for that,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ll soon be asleep.’ Next morning a lady stood over Alun. She had long fair hair and wore a white lacy blouse and a soft long brown skirt Mam wouldn’t be seen dead in. She wasn’t his idea of a teacher and it threw him. Out of the darkness in his head he had a sudden flash, as he did nowadays, of the art teacher at his real school, a middle-aged man with an old grey pullover. The only teacher he liked. The lady was holding a bunch of ferns and a basket full of small stones. ‘I’m Mrs Williams, come to help Mrs Parry. This afternoon we’re going to look at the patterns of nature in the Black Mountain.’ ‘That’s where the lake is,’ whispered Huw. Alun stared dumbly at the teacher and the other children listened, waiting for him to speak. But he had nothing to say. ‘Think of those scattered treeless peaks soaring northwards from Ammanford. Do you know which is the highest peak?’ ‘Fan Brycheiniog,’ said Morgan quickly. ‘I’ve been up there. You can see Exmoor from there, and Cader Idris.’ Mrs Williams laughed. ‘Your photographic memory serves you in good stead.’ 24
‘Mamgu and Tadcu live in Llanddeusant,’ said Sara. ‘It’s on the way to the lake. I’m going for their Ruby Wedding.’ Mrs Williams came up to Alun. ‘What about you?’ ‘Kids’ stuff,’ he said, testing her. ‘You’re right,’ she replied smoothly. ‘All art is kids’ stuff. Seeing with eyes that aren’t spoilt.’ He didn’t know what that meant either and pointed to his right hand. ‘What am I meant to do with this?’ ‘Try your left,’ she said, and meant it. She swung round his table and adjusted it so that it sloped away from him. She clipped a large white piece of paper to the sloping surface then gave him some ferns. They clung stickily to each other but she prised them apart. ‘Do you like drawing?’ Alun shrugged his shoulders. ‘I dunno.’ The teacher walked away and he felt strangely disappointed. He closed his eyes. Once again the blackness prowled inside him like an animal he could neither see nor hear. Sleep was the way out. Not this drawing stuff. But Huw’s voice pulled him back. ‘I’m doing a pattern of stones.’ ‘Why’s that?’ Alun found himself asking. 25
Huw was sitting up with a large paint brush poised over his paper. ‘Before we climbed the Black Mountain we went to the Dan-yr-Ogof caves. I found this really great fossil nearby. And then there are all the stone outcrops on the mountain.’ Alun watched the yoghurt pot swerve as Huw stuck his brush into it and pulled it out laden with thick grey paint. Then Mrs Williams put the music on, the sort Dad liked and Mam hated. Fiddles and a highpitched little pipe, with a harp somewhere in the background, being stroked hard as though someone were giving it a good combing. ‘These are traditional folk songs from the area,’ said Mrs Williams. But there was no singing, only waves of instrumental music as they painted on. The music somehow reminded Alun of the bluebell wood picture that his father had brought home. ‘Wasting your money again,’ Mam had said, as he put it up. By the time Dad had fixed the picture above the table there had been so much shouting Alun could hardly bear to look at the bluebells and the white ghost that marked the end of the wood. Mam never changed her mind, and when Dad had gone and Tony moved in she made him take it down and put it in the shed. A white oblong blank marked the place where the bluebell 26
wood had been, like a picture of nothing at all. Like the sheet of paper before him. Alun screwed up his eyes tightly to try and forget. ‘Still one blank page,’ said Mrs Williams when she passed. ‘We’ll have to get Mrs Parry on to you.’ Alun kept his eyes tightly shut. They weren’t going to get anyone on to him. Not today. Not ever. The next thing he heard was Mrs Parry’s voice. He kept his eyes shut. He was used to listening to voices in the dark and trying not to understand. At home Mam’s voice grumbled up through the floorboards like a mouse until it grew louder, angrier. Then the mouse turned into a tiger and he had to stuff his ears. But Mrs Parry’s voice was different. It was bright and clear and near at hand. In the end he had to listen. The names she listed seemed familiar. Didn’t he remember Olwen from school – the girl with long brown hair? And come to think of it, didn’t he remember Sara as well, the one in the wheelchair with the high laugh? Bryn was the boy opposite with bright orange hair and Morgan was the one with a sharp voice who was always butting in with an answer. ‘Is that cupboard really old?’ he was asking now. 27
‘Very old indeed.’ Mrs Parry replied, ‘And rather special. Isn’t that so, Sara?’ Sara nodded. ‘That’s what Mamgu says. That’s why she gave it to the hospital. It was a thank you for keeping me going when I was a baby.’ ‘There is something special about that cupboard,’ said Huw. Alun opened his eyes. There was Sara in her wheelchair wearing a bright red dress over her small legs that curled beneath. Her hair was cropped and silky as if it belonged to another body. Olwen was sitting on a chair with her brown hair loose and her leg propped up on a stool. Mrs Parry was standing by his bed holding a book. It didn’t look like school at all. And here they all were, going on about a cupboard! Mrs Parry was smiling at Huw. ‘You might be right! The cupboard’s been locked up for some time. It doesn’t officially belong to the school, you know. It belongs to the hospital, and no one else has bothered with it.’ ‘It’s spooky,’ said Huw, ‘in a nice sort of way.’ Mrs Parry turned to Alun. ‘Here we are: THE LADY OF LLYN Y FAN FACH. You must read the story for yourself so that you can catch up with the rest. It’s not too long.’ 28
She opened a book with large print and propped it up on the wooden stand that was attached to his bed. His eyes were not like they used to be but he could just read the big print. Half way through he recognised the legend. Of course, Dad had often told it to him as a bedside story. Then one day he took him up to see the lake. In one of those flashes that lit up corners of his blank mind, Alun remembered the walk from Blaenau farm. They went down to the riverside and crossed a bridge and went along a stony track. They came across a building and two gates and one or two dams across the river. They went round the corner and there it was. ‘The highest Carmarthen Fan,’ Dad said. ‘It’s a great thing to see.’ From the top of the track they followed a plain grassy path. There was another building, another small dam and then the lake. It gleamed darkly, mysteriously and he remembered looking at the water, certain the Lady would appear. He waited and waited but she didn’t come and now the lake merged into the darkness of his mind. ‘Are legends ever true?’ Huw was asking. Mrs Parry stood up. ‘There’s usually a truth in them. One of you might like to find out more about this one.’ 29
‘I will,’ said Sara. ‘Mamgu knows everything about local legends. I’ll ask her when I go to Myddfai for the Ruby Wedding.’ Huw rolled his eyes. He’d obviously heard enough about this family celebration. Mrs Parry looked down at Alun. ‘Perhaps you could find out more about the healing.’ Morgan shovelled in his school bag and brought out a tatty old book. ‘Here we are – everything you need. Listen to this –’ he looked knowingly at Alun. ‘For an injury in the elbow, knee or legs. Take lard, or pig’s fat once melted, spread on a cloth or flannel, and apply to the swellings. If to the elbow or knee, mix some juice of rue therewith, and it will cure an injury of the joint. It is proved.’ He looked up and laughed. ‘It’s a recipe from the Physicians of Myddfai. And I’ve got it in Welsh.’ Mrs Parry smiled. ‘We can turn it into a Welsh lesson as well. Will you read it to us, Morgan?’ Morgan cleared his throat: ‘Mêl gloyw . . .’ Alun switched off. Strange that a book of instructions still existed; he half wondered 30
if there could be anything in Rhiwallon’s healing power. If only he could heal the blackness in his head. That night the flimsy curtains let in a pool of light that lay across Alun’s and Huw’s bed. Bryn was snoring and somewhere in the next ward there were footsteps and low voices and a baby crying. The pool of light lit up the folds on his white blanket and Alun turned them into the country track that led to the lake. Now he was floating above the track; the moon lit up the barren smoothhumped peaks and rocky escarpments of Bannau Sir Gaer and Fan Brycheiniog. And there was the lake, gleaming silver-black. He swooped down but no one was there so he flew over a landscape of hedgerows, furrowed fields, sheep and cattle. Now he was running down the stony track, leaning over the bridge that crossed the river. Rhiwallon was looking up at him from the water. And there was Dad, crying so hard he filled the river with his tears. In the dream Alun struck the water angrily with a stick, so the ripples broke up the image and he did not have to see his father crying like a child. But Rhiwallon did not go away. He held out his hand and offered Alun something that he could not see.
31
Chapter Two
THE CHALLENGE Alun woke to find himself threshing the bedclothes with his left hand. Huw and Bryn were talking in low voices. ‘Of course it was,’ Huw was saying, his dark blue eyes glinting in the half-light. Bryn scratched his thick hair so it stood up like a brush. ‘Come on. You don’t really believe in Rhiwallon’s ghost do you? Anyway, how do you know it is Rhiwallon?’ Huw ignored Bryn’s doubts. ‘I tell you I saw him again, in that mirror. I think he wants us to open the cupboard.’ ‘Only think?’ said Morgan, mockingly. ‘Shut up,’ called Sara from the girls’ end. ‘You’ve woken us all up.’ Alun turned his head. By the low light he could just see Sara looking cross and Olwen opposite with her long brown hair catching the light. Funny we’re all here together, he thought and had a flashback of Olwen talking to him in the school corridor. ‘I’ve hardly slept,’ she was saying now, ‘what with you lot.’ ‘Better shut up,’ whispered Alun to Huw but he found himself looking at the cupboard at their end of the ward. The mirror was cloudy with moonlight and 32
shifting shadows. Maybe there was something in what Huw said. After all, a hospital was just the sort of place Rhiwallon might choose to haunt. ‘There,’ whispered Huw, ‘behind the shadow. That’s where he was.’ Then the phone rang in the office and they could hear the nurse answering. ‘Touch it then,’ challenged Bryn. ‘Go on, I dare you. Touch it!’ Alun pulled himself up, dragging at the weights on his legs. His head still ached but the ghost took his mind off the pain. He watched Huw reach for his crutches and slide very carefully off the bed. The night nurse was still talking as Huw stomped up the ward, his back rounded and determined. When he reached the cupboard he put out his hand and quickly touched the cloud of moonlight. ‘There,’ he whispered, turning his head to Bryn. ‘But , that wasn’t Rhiwallon. He was here, I tell you, but he has disappeared.’ ‘Daft,’ said Bryn, putting his hands up and rubbing his head. ‘But there might be something inside the cupboard, you never know.’ He laughed at Huw. ‘While you’re there, what about trying to open it?’ ‘Haven’t got a key,’ said Huw, rattling the door. ‘She’s coming,’ whispered Olwen. 33
‘What the heck?’ said the nurse, striding up the ward. ‘He was sleep-walking,’ said Bryn in a challenging voice. ‘Then it was a good job he got hold of his crutches,’ said the nurse coolly. ‘I was stretching my legs,’ said Huw, trying to sound nearer the truth. ‘Then stretch them back to bed, young man,’ said the nurse. ‘What a tired lot,’ said the doctor next morning. ‘All-night partying or what?’ he joked, then turned to Sister and the procession of medical students. Alun wanted to tell him about the ache in his head and how it blurred his eyesight and made his mind blank so he couldn’t remember anything, but somehow he couldn’t put it into words. The procession moved on and he closed his eyes again. If he kept them shut the day would disappear. But he didn’t sleep and even the next night he woke up in the dark. Perhaps it was the babies’ crying or the cold full moon that shone blue-white through the thin curtains and brought in a feeling of frost. Or maybe it was the others who were also awake. ‘He hasn’t come tonight,’ Huw was saying. ‘Maybe we frightened him away.’ ‘Ghosts don’t get frightened,’ said Bryn, ‘only girls . . .’ 34
‘I’m not frightened,’ said Olwen quickly, ‘nor is Sara – are you?’ ‘Of course not,’ said Sara and stared scornfully at Bryn. ‘You should hear the stories Mamgu tells. Anyway, I’ve never seen a ghost and there must be a first time.’ She looks different at night, thought Alun, almost beautiful with her pale skin and silky gold hair shining in the moonlight and her body hidden. He tried to remember what class she was in at school but without success. ‘Why don’t we try to open the cupboard again?’ said Morgan. ‘There might be something in there more substantial than a ghost!’ He made a mock frightened noise. ‘There might be a sk-e-e-le-ton . . .’ Huw turned to Bryn. ‘It’s your turn,’ he said. Bryn sat bolt upright, his brush of orange hair caught in the night light. No sleep for the wicked, thought Alun. He pushed himself up on his left elbow and like the others listened carefully for the sound of footsteps. He didn’t mean to say anything but somehow he found himself whispering to Huw. ‘It’s in my locker but you’ve got to give it straight back.’ ‘What?’ said Huw yawning widely. ‘The key to my padlock. It’s in my locker – it might open the cupboard. After all, there might be something inside.’ 35
‘That’s brilliant, Alun. Thanks.’ Huw sat up and stared at the mirror. ‘Perhaps Rhiwallon will help us tonight,’ he said. Alun felt muzzy. His back ached, his arm throbbed. ‘You must be joking,’ he said. Slowly and carefully Huw secured his crutches and picked up the key. ‘I want it back straightaway,’ said Alun sharply. Whatever had come over him? Why had he let it go when it was so precious? Huw nodded and pushed his way up the ward. ‘This time lucky,’ said Morgan as Huw passed him, ‘and don’t drop the key.’ Huw stood solemnly in front of the tall cupboard with its mirror full of cloudy images. He pushed the key into the lock where it glinted in the moonlight. ‘It’s turning,’ he said excitedly. The children were so intent they didn’t even hear the inurse coming up the ward. ‘Sleep-walking again?’ She sounded a bit like Mam, thought Alun, and he shoved himself under the bedclothes. For some reason Mam filled his mind. His breath broke and tears filled his eyes. She had already left Dad so why shouldn’t she leave him? Then he remembered the key and pushed back the bedclothes. Huw was hobbling back to bed with a glazed expression on his face. Alun felt trapped. He 36
knew Huw had to leave the key behind but it didn’t help. Say it stayed in the cupboard forever? His sight blurred and when the nurse had gone back to the office he whispered angrily, ‘What did you go and leave my key for? You must be out of your mind.’ ‘Look, I’ll go back,’ said Huw, on the defensive. ‘I’ll go back now.’ ‘Don’t be daft,’ hissed Bryn. ‘If you go back she’ll know something’s up.’ ‘I’m nearest,’ said Morgan. ‘I’ll get it.’ ‘Not with your knees you won’t’ said Huw, ‘You’ll take longer than me. Anyway, I promised I’d look after the key, didn’t I?’ Alun watched him reach for his crutches, put them under his arms, once more slide off the bed. His eyes blurred and he could no longer make out what was happening. Suddenly the phone rang and nurse’s muffled voice gabbled behind the office door. Everybody muttered with relief. ‘It’s turning,’ Huw was saying but as he spoke the phone clicked down and Sara whispered, ‘Get straight back.’ ‘You should have let me go,’ muttered Morgan. Huw put the key in his mouth and hobbled back. ‘Thanks,’ said Alun, taking the key and shoving it under the bedclothes. 37
The nurse came through the door as Huw once again rolled into bed. The clatter of his falling crutches sounded suspicious but there was nothing she could say for everyone was lying still, eyes clamped like limpets, mouths open, snoring loudly. When she had gone, Alun turned to watch Huw. Not everyone would have done that for me, he thought. He felt warm inside, as if something in him was waking up. It was a feeling he hadn’t had for a long time. Perhaps there was something in this silly Rhiwallon story after all. The next morning Sara rode up the ward, manipulating her chair between the beds. She had a small pile of grey paper on her lap and gave a sheet to Alun. Mrs Williams walked over, her long, fair hair loose over her shoulders. A mess, Mam would have said but Alun found himself liking it. It made her seem less of a teacher and more like Olwen. He wasn’t sure why he liked Olwen particularly. Perhaps it was her long hair or her smile, but he wasn’t sure. ‘We need you to do something for us, Alun,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘What for?’ ‘We need more work to put up.’ ‘Why?’ Mrs Williams shook her head. 38
‘At the rate things are going we’ll be lucky to stay here for Christmas. The powers that be want to close the ward, maybe even the hospital. It’s the same story all over. Money, that’s what runs the world. It happens the Inspector’s coming soon and we want to impress him with our work, then he might listen to us. You see, it’s very important to keep things as they are for a little while at least.’ ‘I can’t imagine not being here,’ said Sara, ‘It’s been my school for nearly always.’ ‘You have your own school now,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘I know, but I always come back here, don’t I?’ ‘You mean they might turn us out?’ said Huw. ‘You never know,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘If we’re lucky they might move us to a new ward or even a new hospital. We don’t know.’ ‘But I don’t want to go to another ward,’ said Huw, looking hard at the mirror. It was glinting in the morning sun; there was a shine on it like a wax that would receive any message they might want to put on it. ‘Please help us, Rhiwallon,’ he whispered. Alun heard him and turned to Mrs Williams. ‘Give me a pencil,’ he said, ‘and I’ll have a go with my left hand.’ 39
‘What about drawing something from the legend?’ said Mrs Williams. ‘That could be your project.’ ‘I can’t imagine anything,’ said Alun. Mrs Williams smiled. ‘You don’t have to. We have plenty of photographs.’ He chose a photograph of the Black Mountain from Llanddeusant. That could be Dad standing there with a stick in his hand, Alun thought, looking at the dark slope that rose up from trees and green fields to barren uplands. He read the blurb on the back. That’s where I am too, he thought, under a grey wall of rain and the wind blotting my sight. Mrs Williams nodded. ‘A good dramatic choice. By the way, did you sort out your eye problem?’ ‘They said it would go soon,’ said Alun shortly. Sara wheeled herself back to the table. ‘What else can we do to stop the ward closing?’ ‘Work hard,’ said Mrs Williams, ‘say a prayer or two. You don’t have to be in chapel to pray. It always helps when people care.’ Sara put the rest of the paper on the table and settled herself down. ‘I’m drawing the physicians of Myddfai,’ said Olwen. ‘I wish I could be healed by them. The thought of another op gives me a headache.’ 40
‘Listen to this,’ said Morgan, opening his book. He put on a serious voice. ‘For a headache. Whoever is frequently afflicted with a headache, let him make a lotion of the vervain, betony, chamomile, and red fennel; let him wash his head three times a week therewith, and he will be cured.’ ‘Sounds like the latest shampoo,’ said Sara and everybody laughed. ‘Thanks a million, Rhiwallon,’ said Morgan, returning the book. ‘Well, he might help us all,’ said Huw seriously. ‘What does he come for otherwise?’ ‘I didn’t know the legend had such an effect on you all,’ said Mrs Williams in surprise. ‘Huw’s a great fantasist, he is,’ said Alun. ‘It’s his ancestors. They were all Celtic minstrels with too much imagination.’ ‘Well, try to get some of this down on paper now,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘I can’t draw scenery,’ said Alun, ‘not with my left hand.’ ‘Draw the cupboard, whispered Huw. ‘That’s what I’m doing. Then I’m going to draw what I think is inside. I don’t care if they laugh.’ 41
‘What do you think is inside?’ ‘I’m not sure.’ Huw chewed the end of his pencil. ‘Tell you what, if you let me have your key again, I’ll have a look tonight.’ ‘OK,’ said Alun. He began to draw the cupboard out of a sort of sympathy for Huw. He drew carefully, making pencil strokes as his art teacher had encouraged him to do at school. ‘Best thing you’ve done,’ said Mrs Williams, a little later. ‘You’ve made a real leap there. Now, what do you imagine is inside it?’ The smile she gave him as she went away made him feel good. He stared at the cupboard he had drawn but it was not long before his elation was over. He wished Mrs Williams hadn’t asked him to imagine what was inside. He dropped his pencil, screwed up the sheet of paper and threw it on to the floor. He edged down the bed and shut his eyes. Suddenly, acutely, the blackness came back and he didn’t know why. Soon he pushed himself up in a panic and was relieved to see Mrs Williams nearby waiting for him to hand her the empty clipboard. He knew he had let her down but the blackness stood between them so he shrugged his shoulders and she went off without further questions. He felt uncom42
fortable now, and was relieved when Sara collected the pencils and went back with Olwen to the girls’ end. He shut his eyes and only opened them when the tea-lady came up the ward with her swaying trolley. Not long afterwards Huw’s family arrived, early as usual, crowding in as soon as school was over. This time Huw’s mother was holding her baby. The small pink-faced child smiled at Alun but he felt apprehensive. Ffion sidled up to him and showed him a small bear wearing a bib. She danced the bear all over his bedclothes and, without understanding why, Alun shivered and shouted, ‘Get off!’ He turned the other way and caught sight of someone about the size of his own mother coming towards him. But it wasn’t her; she would never come. He turned round to see Ffion was already back, laying her little bear inside his locker drawer as if it was a wooden cradle. It was then he understood why he had shouted. In one of those flashes that came to him nowadays, filling the blanks in his memory as if it was happening now, Alun’s mind was filled with the image of the big stuffed bear that sat on the corner shelf in the front room. It was Tony’s teddy and it told him Dad was not coming back. Not yet, at any rate. Funny how he had forgotten until now. It was 43
April Fool’s Day, he remembered, and Tony had tricked him about the time and made him late for school. He recalled how that night when he lay in bed listening to the noises downstairs, it sounded as if Mam and Tony were still playing the fool or getting drunk or something. He remembered climbing out of bed and lifting the carpet at the broken floorboard where he could hear best. ‘There we are,’ Tony was saying, ‘the best prize in Carmarthen Fair. I got it specially for you.’ ‘Oh Tony, you shouldn’t, but he’s lovely, isn’t he? I love the trousers with the braces.’ ‘I always did like teddy bears,’ said Tony. ‘You’re like one,’ Mam replied. ‘A big softy, that’s what you are.’ Then there was a sort of silence until Mam said, ‘I didn’t think it would ever happen; I didn’t think we’d ever pull it off. You and me –’ ‘And little ‘un,’ said Tony, ‘the three of us.’ The three of us! Alun knew he was caressing Mam’s stomach because he had seen him do this before. That was the very moment he knew it was Tony’s baby, and not Dad’s. He remembered his confusion, how he had started to rock and cry like a baby himself and push open the window to see if 44
he could see Dad anywhere. But the lamp light only lit up pools of darkness and where their street curved down into Castle Hill there was nothing but cars flashing towards the station or out to the M4. It was lightly raining and he cried unashamedly. The three of us, he repeated over and over again. The three of us. How dare they! If he knew where Dad was he’d run away to him and that would show them. Then his tears had stopped and his anger had begun. He leapt off the bed and cast round for something he could use for beating up Tony. He picked up the spare pump for his bike and ran to the door and then ran back in despair and pounded the bed with it. Hit! Hit! Hit! He hated Tony! He hated that baby even before it was born. Now he knew: that was when the blackness had begun. ‘I don’t like teddy bears,’ he told Ffion. ‘Why not?’ she asked. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Just don’t, that’s all.’ ‘What’s this then?’ she asked, pulling out his key from the drawer. ‘All that’s left of my bike,’ said Alun shortly. ‘Look, I’ve got the padlock round my wrist.’ ‘Not so good as this,’ said Ffion, holding up her bead bracelet for him to admire. 45
‘Tell you what,’ said Alun, trying to think of other things, ‘could you let me have one of your hair grips?’ ‘What for?’ ‘A secret.’ Ffion pulled out a hair grip from the top of her long fair plaits and gave it to him. Huw leaned over. ‘Don’t lose the key,’ he told Ffion, ‘It’s really important.’ ‘Why?’ ‘We’ll know all about it tomorrow!’ ‘About what?’ ‘The secret of the cupboard,’ said Alun mysteriously. The low night-light cast shadows down the ward. Alun watched them until he fell asleep and dreamed he was crawling at the bottom of a rain-beaten pit. Then Huw’s voice woke him up: ‘Rhiwallon is back!’ Alun yawned. ‘Go to sleep.’ Rain was falling on the roof, babies were crying. He heard the nurse’s footsteps hurrying out of the office and into the babies’ ward. He wanted to sleep again but his curiosity overcame his exhaustion and he pulled himself up and stared at the cupboard. Perhaps it was because he was halfasleep or because he was allowing his imagination to wander. Whatever the reason 46
he had no doubt that what he now saw in the mirror was the shadow of a youth, carrying what might be a black calf, looking at him with eyes that were full of sympathy. Had Rhiwallon come to heal them? He stared at the ghost for a long time until, between one blink and another, the shadowy, white face disappeared. He turned to Huw. ‘I saw something but now it’s gone. Imagination, I expect.’ ‘He was there,’ whispered Huw tensely. ‘Then he disappeared as I was talking.’ He stared intently at the mirror as if he could will Rhiwallon to return. ‘It’s bucketing outside,’ he whispered. The rain would hide any noise he made. ‘I’m going to try, OK? Where’s the key?’ ‘In the locker,’ murmured Alun. ‘And don’t lose it. Don’t forget the hair grip. You might need it.’ Huw put the key and the hair grip in his top pyjama pocket. ‘Safe there,’ he whispered, reaching for his crutches. Alun yawned and tried to make himself comfortable. His head had been aching for some days now and as he watched Huw’s small rounded back proceed slowly down the ward it throbbed violently. He hoped it would stop soon so that he could think about what he had seen. He also hoped he 47
would walk as well as Huw when he had his crutches. It wouldn’t be long now, the doctor had said, but it was difficult to believe. Sometimes he thought it would all go on forever, the pain and the blackness and the grey blanks in his mind that he couldn’t fill. Yet tonight it didn’t matter quite so much, as if the shadowy face of Rhiwallon the healer had given him hope. He looked over at the others. Bryn was on his back, snoring as usual, but Morgan was sitting up rubbing his eyes. He looked smaller and less sure of himself with his glasses off and his brown hair tousled. More like the sort of person whose knees packed up the night before he ran for the County. Psychological, they said, but who was to know? And who was to know about Rhiwallon, for that matter? Legends were old as the hills, Mrs Parry said, and there was some truth in them though it was never straightforward. ‘Got to have a witness,’ said Morgan as Huw passed. His voice acted as a signal. ‘I’ll be a witness too,’ whispered Alun, trying to shake off his sleepiness. His vision was blurred, so when Huw reached the cupboard he could only half see him in the dim light. Instead of straining his eyes he listened to the lock scraping. ‘Told you it wouldn’t fit,’ said Morgan. 48
‘It’s got to,’ whispered Huw. ‘Give him a chance,’ muttered Alun. ‘I’ll help,’ said Morgan, reaching for his crutches and swinging himself awkwardly out of bed and along the ward. Through the blur Alun saw how tall and thin he was and how small Huw looked beside him. Morgan fiddled away at the lock as if there was some way in which it would open. ‘Push it in further,’ whispered Huw. ‘It worked before.’ ‘So you say,’ said Morgan. By now Bryn had woken up. ‘Try the hairpin,’ he whispered. At that moment the phone rang and the boys stood frozen in front of the mirror. To their relief Nurse turned into the office without seeing them. Her voice flowed quietly and evenly from behind the door, giving them a sense of reassurance. By now they were all awake. It was strange, thought Alun, as if they were in some conspiracy and must see it through together. Even Sara and Olwen were sitting up, trying to see what was going on. To his surprise his eyes cleared and now he could see Morgan and Huw and the shadows in the mirror that might be their reflection or might be – but as he strained forward Morgan whispered excitedly, ‘Done it!’ 49
The cupboard door slowly swung open and the mirror collected other images as it moved round. There was a pause as the boys peered into the cupboard. ‘Empty,’ said Morgan, slightly triumphant. ‘Just a minute,’ said Huw, forgetting to whisper. ‘What’s at the back of that shelf?’ He leaned on Morgan, and pushing his arm inside, brought out something. Nurse’s voice stopped abruptly and the phone clicked down. Morgan hurriedly swung the cupboard door back and returned to his bed while Huw worked his crutches as fast he could down the ward, a grey white bundle hanging from his teeth. Just as he reached his bed the nurse came out, and Huw flung the bundle at Alun who stuffed it under the bedclothes with his good arm, then shut his eyes. ‘Sleep-walking again?’ said the nurse, eyeing Huw. ‘I don’t know,’ said Huw, carefully stacking his crutches against the bed and climbing into the sheets. Alun lay stiffly, holding the unknown bundle to his stomach, listening to the nurse’s footsteps recede. He could hear his heart beating to the pulse of the rain. He didn’t dare move. The bundle stuck to his chest like an animal that had leapt on him and pinned him down. Like a baby. 50
Then he saw her in his mind, tiny in Tony’s arms, unbelievably real. She wore a little white baby-gro, like a doll. Her face was puckered up and a thin wail came out of the round hole of her mouth. Tony rocked her to and fro with a daft expression on his face that Alun had never seen before. That was when he walked out of the room and up to his bedroom. But he couldn’t get away from the thin wail that came up through the floorboards like a trail of string winding round and round his throat. He put his hands over his ears. If it wasn’t for her Dad would be downstairs, back from the ticket office, eating a peanut-butter sandwich, watching the news. Then there wasn’t a freak of a baby in the house, screaming its head off so that Mam had no time for him at all. Perhaps he said something out loud because the nurse came over to him and asked him if he was all right. He said he was and shut his eyes so she would go away again. She said something else, but it was Tony’s voice he heard, bringing him in from the back yard. ‘Hey Alun, what shall we call her, eh?’ ‘Up to you.’ ‘You meet plenty of girls,’ said Tony clumsily. ‘Schoolgirls,’ said Alun noticing that the baby’s pram blocked the little patch where 51
he used to play ball against the wall and practise juggling. ‘Isn’t there anywhere else to put the pram?’ ‘Of course not,’ said Tony. ‘Catrin, what about Catrin?’ ‘It’s all right,’ said Alun. The baby was hidden under the clothes. A little frill of pink bonnet was all that showed. He didn’t know babies could be so tiny. Or so huge, so they filled everything, all the garden, all the house, all the conversation. So huge there was no more room for him or Dad. He left Tony simpering over the pram and went through the dark narrow corridor that smelled of damp and food. Out in the front his mountain bike was waiting for him. He took off the black dustbin-bag cover, folded it neatly and put it under a stone. Then he took the key from the pocket in his jeans and unlocked the padlock. He made sure the padlock and key were back in his pocket before he wheeled out his bike. Maybe Dad had come back to the ticket office and he could tell him about the baby and how there was no room any more. The thing was still on his chest and he didn’t dare to move in case the nurse came over again and saw it. It wouldn’t be fair to Huw if it was taken away. So he lay there for 52
what seemed an eternity. It was only when the heavy rain turned into a pounding downpour that he thought he could bear it no longer. For at that moment something tore open his mind and he met his terrifying memories face to face.
53
Chapter Three
HURRICANE He saw it as clearly as if it was happening before him: They were leaning over the cot and Mam was smiling at Tony. ‘Fast asleep,’ she said, and turned to Alun who was standing at the bedroom door. ‘We won’t be long, Alun. A quick drink down at the Falcon. Nice and cosy there and Lammas Street isn’t that far. Do us both good. We haven’t been out for ages, have we, Tone? You’ll know where we are, Alun.’ Of course he knew. That was where Dad used to take her. He was small then and the lady from up the road kept him company. ‘It’s really windy tonight,’ he said. ‘What do you expect in October?’ said Mam, smiling and cooing into the cot. ‘If there’s any trouble you’ve got the bottle. I’ve left it in the Milton on the draining board. But she should sleep. She’s only just been fed.’ Alun peered at the baby. She was wrapped in a white shawl from the lace shop and covered with a pink blanket. The smell of talcum powder hung over the cot. Cosy and warm, he thought, as the windows rattled. ‘It’s a bad wind,’ he repeated. 54
‘We don’t go out that often,’ said Mam sharply, ‘and we’re only down the road. You’ve got your homework, haven’t you? If you leave your bedroom door open you’ll hear the baby without any trouble.’ Tony had greased his black hair and put on his black leather jacket. He put his hand in his breast pocket, drew out a wedge of notes, and flicked through them. Darkness had already fallen and the wind spattered the window panes with spurts of rain. Alun waited for the front door to bang before he crossed into his own bedroom where he turned on the light and opened his secret drawer. He took out the key of his padlock and put it in his pocket. The wind seeped into the room and shook the bulb so shadows on the wall trembled like leaves. After a while he felt as if the wind had got into his head so he went downstairs and switched on the television. He flicked from channel to channel but he received nothing but jagged lines and a crackling noise. The wind was louder than he had ever heard before. It boomed like a missile that was aiming straight at the house. He pulled back the curtains to make sure everything was the same, and in the lamp light he saw a dark figure bowing in the wind, coming down Priory street towards him. His heart leapt. 55
‘Dad,’ he called out, but the figure passed into the shadows. He turned off the living room light so he could see outside better. It was like a wind in a picture book, he thought, cheeks out, hair standing on edge, blowing over the whole world. It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t on his own, but it was getting louder, spreading into his ears and eyes and nose, suffocating him. ‘Please help me,’ he found himself saying, ‘please make Dad come and help me.’ He thought he heard a cry and stood at the foot of the steep stairs listening for the baby. But it was only the wind wailing down the chimney. A draught skimmed under the front door and it rattled as if someone was knocking on it. ‘Dad?’ he called as he struggled to open it. He peered through the small gap but there was no one there except the wind. He shoved the door to and stood with his back to it, listening to his own pulse and registering a weird trembling in his limbs. After a little while he heard the crying but for a long while he didn’t move. Then suddenly, as if the wind was behind him, he rushed upstairs and stood over the cot. He stared at the baby then picked it up and held it high and watched it fill the room with its breathless wail. He hated its red, wrinkled face and its shrivelled cry that mingled with 56
the noise in his head and the giant wind that was pushing at the window. He shook it and shook it as if it was a rag doll. The door rattled and he turned round, distracted. Then he was conscious of nothing but the baby lying at his feet, curled up on the ground. The wailing had stopped, the creature lay still. He looked at it coldly, observing the little knot of blood that seeped into its shawl. The noise in his head froze and he heard himself saying as clearly as if it was somebody else speaking to him, ‘She’s all right. She’s asleep. She’s fast asleep.’ He picked up the silent baby and placed it in the cot. Then he went down and sat on the bottom stair and looked for a long time at the rattling door. Would Dad never come home? After a while the icicle in his head unfroze and his anger became the wind outside. It gathered strength as it hurled itself at the front door. The pane of glass shifted and scattered to the ground. Now his anger lay in little sharp triangles that glinted as the hall light swung to and fro. It shouted at him through the hole in the door. Through the lips of the letter-box it shouted and screamed at him. On the other side of the 57
door it hid the stars and scooped out the street as it went on its way down to the ticket office, looking for Dad. It hollowed out the ticket office and swirled the tickets into the air. It took hold of Dad’s crumpled jacket, whirled it back to the house and stuffed it in the hole in the door. Now his anger, like a whirlwind, was back in the house, rattling the television, the cupboard, the knives and forks. He took another coat off the stand and wrapped it round his head but there was no escape. So he ran up to bed and hid under the bedclothes where he thought of his bike, chained to a hook in the front wall, ready to take him away. He flung back the duvet, pulled on his anorak and ran downstairs. Mam’s voice stopped him so he rushed into the kitchen, took the bottle out of the Milton, ran upstairs and placed it in the cot beside the baby’s mouth. Like that she would have her milk when she woke up. At last he was free to go on his bike and find Dad where he always imagined him, down by the station on the other side of the river Tywi, chatting to his mates who were laid off in the summer. He would tell him to come back because things had gone badly wrong and his anger was as big as the wind. Outside, the dustbin bag that protected his bike had swirled away and the bike itself was 58
dangling from the padlock. With difficulty, he pushed the key into its little hole. The bike scraped to the ground and he pulled it up. Then he thought he heard a cry so he ran back into the house and up the stairs. He listened from his bedroom but there was no sound. He put his padlock and key in the secret place under his tee shirts. They could guard the baby like they guarded his bike. He listened again but there was still no sound from the other bedroom and when he went in and looked at the cot the baby lay there as white and still as the sheet they pulled up over Mamgu’s head when she died. He brushed the thought aside. The baby was cold, that was it. He pulled the shawl and blanket round her and ran out. He picked up the bike and pushed it round to the left, then mounted it and pedalled fast, down towards Castle Hill. The wind was behind him and he was confused. He knew the lorry in front of him had stopped because cars were queuing at the traffic lights. But he also thought the lorry had stopped because of the wind and it would never, never stop him. He swerved out. The black night speeded him towards morning. The children were grouped between Alun’s and Bryn’s bed. Sara’s newly washed hair was a fine silky gold. She wore a long 59
flowery dress that covered her legs. Her elfin face was alight. She was giggling and making Olwen laugh so her whole body shook. Girls! It was not often Olwen laughed like that but the joke was not for sharing, and Mrs Parry smiled sympathetically at Alun. Laughter. The nightmare stood between him and their laughter. For surely it was a nightmare? Of course he couldn’t remember it very clearly – he never did – but whatever he had been thinking about last night left him with a sense of darkness that kept him outside all the laughter in the world. He listened on automatic pilot, as he had done for many weeks. ‘. . . a little play based on our legend, “The Lady of Llyn Y Fan Fach” or maybe on its sequel, “The Physicians of Myddfai,”’ Mrs Parry was saying in a matter-of-fact voice. Alun shut his eyes. What are they talking about? Who are the Physicians of Myddfai? Then he remembered the end of the story, where legend turned into history and the sons of the lady became physicians and their sons after them. In an odd way they gave him a little hope. After all, Rhiwallon was the first of those physicians. Mrs Parry was smiling at him. ‘You can stick to the story or use the theme of healing to make up your own. In pairs and 60
no longer than five minutes. Sarayou work with Bryn, Morgan with Huw. Olwen with Alun.’ Painfully he pulled himself up. Olwen placed her crutches against the chair and sat beside him. They looked at each other blankly until Mrs Parry fired titles at them: ‘The Cattle. The Lake. The Christening. The present – but something better than unbaked bread, perhaps.’ She laughed. ‘Let’s do the present,’ said Olwen. ‘We are poor parents with a son who won’t leave home – just like my brother. We’ve had enough and decide to bribe the girl next door so she’ll take him out to a rave-up – we get her, um, a watch?’ She began to giggle again, her small white teeth showing and her oval face growing pink. But Alun didn’t laugh. He watched her as if she were in another world from him. Abruptly she stopped laughing. ‘What’s the matter, Alun? You look in a bit of a daze. Can’t you think of anything?’ He tried to smile but had nothing to say so after a while she went on: ‘Listen! We have a present we don’t want and try to get rid of it. Like those presents at Christmas you wouldn’t be seen dead with.’ ‘What is it?’ he managed to ask. She shrugged her shoulders and they came to another halt. 61
‘Is anything the matter?’ she asked. ‘It’s all right,’ he said for at last his mind had stirred. ‘We’re orphans and we make presents for a lady to make her stay with us. But she abandons us and her son, Rhiwallon, comes instead and in exchange for our presents he makes us better. But then we find we are not really here on earth; we are in a ghost world . . .’ For that is how it seemed to him now, as if he were a ghost and all round him there were other ghosts, haunting him, giving him a sense of unease and blankness. ‘The bundle from the cupboard will do for a present,’ said Olwen, opening his locker and picking it up before Alun could stop her. Huw had asked him first thing this morning if he could look inside and Alun had bitten his head off. Olwen smiled at him now, and Alun felt she was protecting him from the darkness. ‘Undo it then,’ he said, feeling it was safe in her hands. The dirty white cloth turned out to be a piece of old sheeting. Inside it was a paper bag done up with string. ‘Look, it really is a present,’ said Olwen, as she bit the string in two. The brown paper was thick and beneath it was a layer of white tissue. Olwen shook it out excitedly. ‘You never know,’ she said and suddenly, there it was in her hands, a small black 62
china calf with little drooping ears and a sort of smile on its mouth. ‘Why, it’s like Rhiwallon’s calf,’ she said in surprise. ‘After the play you can keep it. It will look nice on your locker. I have so many cards on mine I really haven’t any more room.’ Alun couldn’t help smiling. He had been so afraid of the bundle and now it had turned into a baby calf – like the one the ghost was holding, maybe from the herd that belonged to Rhiwallon’s mother. At least, that is how it felt and with the discovery of this amazing creature the darkness lifted as if it too were nothing but a bundle of filthy old rags hiding something small and beautiful. When they acted their play Mrs Williams said it was the best. They had made good use of the legend and said their words as if they meant it. After school Tony came through the door at the same time as Huw’s family. He was wearing a new jacket and his hair looked a shade darker. Huw’s little sister Ffion came running down the aisle and passed him. ‘He’s lovely,’ she said, picking up the little china calf that Olwen had placed beside Alun’s fruit bowl. ‘Hey,’ called Huw, ‘you haven’t said hello.’ 63
Ffion put the china calf back on the locker and now Tony was standing at the foot of Alun’s bed, waving and smiling. ‘How’s tricks?’ ‘All right. A girl from my school who’s down the ward gave me this.’ He pointed to the calf. ‘Popular with the girls, eh?’ said Tony, laughing. He fumbled in his jacket and pulled out an envelope: ‘I’ve got something for you as well. It’s a message from your Mam. Come on. Open it up.’ ‘Later,’ said Alun, putting it on his locker. ‘Why hasn’t she come?’ ‘You must know that,’ said Tony, innocently, ‘even you must understand that.’ It was strange, thought Alun, this swinging from one feeling to another. It was the way Tony said ‘you’, shrinking him, kicking him into a corner. Once again the darkness drew over him like a curtain. It forced him to shut his eyes and wriggle down the bed. For a while Tony went on talking to him, something about an accident down Morfa Lane and you had to admit all that road building was wrecking the traffic system. But that was Wales for you. New roads everywhere. Alun kept his eyes shut, hoping sleep would come over him. Some time later he heard the chair scrape back, the muttering, the heavy footsteps, 64
sounded lighter and lighter as they went away. He felt as if Tony was walking through his heart, tramping all round it, kicking him with every beat. And he still couldn’t understand. ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Ffion. ‘Tippetty, tippetty, tippetty tip.’ She ran the cool little feet of the china calf over his cheek and along his nose. In his head he could hear Rhiwallon’s footsteps coming nearer and nearer. He opened his eyes and watched Ffion put the little calf into the palm of his left hand. He looked at it, standing beside the dangling padlock as if it was waiting to be locked up. ‘There’s something I can’t remember,’ he told her. Laughter rose round Huw’s bed and for a moment Ffion was drawn into it, then she turned back to Alun. ‘I couldn’t remember how to do my sums today.’ ‘I don’t mean that sort of thing.’ ‘Like forgetting to say thank you?’ ‘Sort of.’ After a moment’s silence he said, ‘I don’t think Dad knows I’m ill or he’d have come.’ ‘Where is he?’ ‘I can’t remember.’ ‘The calf might help you to remember,’ she said. ‘What are you going to call him?’ 65
‘I haven’t thought,’ said Alun. Huw was leaning over, watching. ‘What about Myddfai – the village where Rhiwallon came from?’ ‘It seems a funny name to me,’ said Alun, ‘but if you like. . .’ When he woke up in the middle of the night, his head ached, his legs and arm were sore, his mouth was dry. He was clutching Myddfai, tight, under the pillow. He reached out for the glass of water on the locker and listened to the wind rolling down the window. He looked at Huw who was turned away from him, humped up like an animal. He suddenly remembered everything again. Beyond Huw the cupboard was dark and the mirror glinted. He wanted to get up and walk to the cupboard, touch the mirror, touch the past that stretched out behind the wind, behind the baby he must have killed, behind Dad, perhaps as far back as the time of Rhiwallon. He might be safe then. He sipped the water and put Myddfai back on the locker, then eased himself down the bed and shut his eyes tight. When he was better they would send him away. Whatever happened, Dad mustn’t know. Then he caught sight of Mam’s note on the edge of the locker. It was thin, like 66
Mam’s lips. He didn’t want to know that she hated him, that she would never forgive him. He took hold of it and tore it up into little bits. He scattered them on the floor where they lay, white and small, like pieces of ice. Nothing could save him now except – he looked back at the cupboard mirror and thought he saw the shadow of Rhiwallon pass across it, though it might have been a reflection of the curtain shaking in the wind. But when he looked at the window and back at the mirror, the shadow had gone and there were only fragments of light scattered like the message Mam had sent him. ‘You’ve gone backwards,’ said Mrs Parry, the next day. She picked up the china calf. ‘At least he’s looking as cheerful as ever.’ Alun closed the blank pages of his exercise book and asked Mrs Parry if she would read the folk tale to him. Yes, the same one. Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Would you, Mrs Parry?’ ‘I’ll read it to you in Welsh,’ she said. He knew why he wanted to hear the story. At that moment it seemed as if Rhiwallon was his last chance. Without him he would never get better. Without him he would never bear to face the future, the long prison sentence. 67
‘Cheer up, Charlie,’ said Mrs Parry. ‘It might never happen.’ When they put me away, thought Alun, I’ll never ever see Dad again.
68
Chapter Four
THE CONFESSION ‘There’s something badly wrong,’ whispered Olwen, sitting up in bed and combing her long hair that jumped with static. ‘What’s the matter?’ said Sara. ‘Not me, silly, though I have another op coming up. I mean Alun.’ ‘He’s all right.’ Sara arranged her blanket carefully. ‘It’s his accident. His head’s gone funny, that’s all.’ ‘Someone should be told.’ Olwen started to plait her hair tightly so it would be crinkled in the morning. ‘I think there’s something else and he’s not letting on.’ She carefully put her brush into her locker while Sara took out a picture of a beautiful pony with a rosette stuck in his ear. ‘Love you,’ she whispered, kissing the animal quickly on the nose and putting him back in her drawer. The ward fell silent and the winter moon climbed the window as they went to sleep. Towards the middle of the night, Huw sat up. Alun, who had been lying awake, watched him. ‘Rhiwallon’s back. Staring. As if he knows . . .’ Alun pulled himself up and looked at the mirror. He too saw Rhiwallon, pale as the 69
moon, with wet hair and arms outstretched, as if he had just come out of the lake to comfort him. We felt calmer than he had done for a long time. Then after a few minutes Rhiwallon disappeared and Alun’s old feelings of doubt came back. ‘Rhiwallon. It’s all rubbish,’ he muttered. ‘I bet you wouldn’t believe in anything, anything, if you’d done something terrible.’ ‘Like what?’ ‘I dunno. Just something terrible.’ ‘What’s that got to do with Rhiwallon?’ said Huw. Softly but very deliberately, he said, ‘I really mean it. He is Rhiwallon and he’s given us Myddfai for a reason.’ ‘You gone donkeys?’ said Alun. For a while they were silent until Alun repeated in a low voice, ‘But say you’ve done something terrible.’ ‘Like throwing your dinner on the wall? That rice pudding was –’ Huw heaved. ‘Like throwing anything. Like throwing a stone. Or a baby or something.’ Huw giggled. ‘They don’t bounce, you know. Hey, what’s the matter?’ Alun was shaking, his tears gathering and overflowing, their weight too great to stop. He made a strange noise as he tried to keep them down. But they welled up and up and he shook to and fro. ‘Hey, what is it? Shall I call a nurse?’ 70
Alun’s voice came out hoarse and rushed. ‘No!’ ‘You in pain?’ Alun shook his head and as the fit subsided he felt for his tissues. His hand touched Myddfai and he picked up the calf and squeezed it tight. He looked round to make sure everyone else was asleep. ‘Promise not to tell.’ ‘Promise.’ ‘Say, I swear by Rhiwallon I won’t tell.’ ‘I swear by Rhiwallon I won’t tell.’ ‘I didn’t mean to. It was the hurricane, see? I really didn’t mean to.’ ‘Mean to what?’ After a silence Alun whispered: ‘K-K-Kill the baby!’ ‘Have you gone funny or something?’ ‘You swore not to tell,’ said Alun fiercely. ‘Of course I won’t tell.’ Alun blew his nose. ‘The funny thing is I forgot. Then I remembered and forgot again. And now I know forever. It was the night of the hurricane.’ ‘Lots of people went mad that night,’ said Huw. ‘They say millions of trees fell. Our chimney was off and we couldn’t have a fire for ages. One of the trees in the churchyard next to us just missed our house. My father said it was a miracle it didn’t hit us. The Tywi flooded all the way down through the valley. It was 71
something to see, I can tell you.’ He paused, eagerly. ‘Someone died. Did you know that?’ Alun blew his nose again. ‘Here, have a drink.’ Huw struggled out of bed and handed Alun a glass of water. ‘You sure you’re not imagining it? It could be the accident that makes you think like that.’ Alun gulped the water and handed Huw the glass. He was calmer now and thought for a while. ‘I threw her down and when I picked her up she was white and still, like Mamgu when they laid her out before the funeral. Then I ran away on my bike. That’s how I had the accident.’ ‘It might be your head,’ persisted Huw as he rolled back into bed. ‘Like you couldn’t see or remember. But you’re getting better now,’ he added cheerfully. ‘You’re on the mend and you’ll soon be on crutches.’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Alun, ‘they’ll come for me when I’m better. They’ll put me away. That’s what they do when you’ve killed someone.’ Huw sighed. ‘How do you know she’s dead?’ ‘She didn’t move, did she? And there was blood, wasn’t there?’ ‘Tadcu didn’t move when he went unconscious,’ said Huw. ‘They took him in here and he came round.’ 72
Alun spoke slowly: ‘Don’t you see, I’ve got the proof and it’s really simple. If the baby wasn’t dead my Mam would come and see me.’ ‘You should tell Mrs Parry. She’ll sort it out.’ ‘I’ve already told Sister I want to see Mam and she said she would come soon. But I know she won’t.’ Huw turned back to the cupboard. ‘It was an accident,’ he said. ‘You didn’t mean to . . .’ ‘It wasn’t an accident,’ said Alun. They fell silent and after a while Huw whispered, ‘I can see him again. I think he’s come to help us.’ Alun stared at the mirror. It calmed him down, concentrating on something else. The glass was full of shadows and light and he thought he saw Rhiwallon standing behind them, holding out his hand, his eyes intense. Like Huw said, someone who understood, someone who could make things better. ‘Please, whoever you are –’ He used to pray when he was small and Dad took him to church where they all believed. It was an old grey stone building in Lammas Street and he liked the feel of it. Then he stopped going because of what Mam had said. ‘Those that go are no better than those that don’t. Besides, He never seems to listen, does He?’ 73
When Dad left home Alun knew she was right and that God had a blind eye. But now he wasn’t sure. There was Huw and his family, always smiling and together; and Sara who took it for granted she was stuck in that wheelchair for the rest of her life. He stopped thinking because he couldn’t understand, as if he was on another planet. He went on staring at the glass until Rhiwallon slipped away and it was only silver light that filled his eyes. He felt sleepy now and somehow or other found himself in a field of cows where Myddfai was looking for his mother. After a while the black calf found her grazing by a little bridge over the river, not far from the dam. Alun ran down to stroke him. Behind, the Black Mountain rose like a shadow and on the other side of the bridge Rhiwallon was smiling, holding out his hand . . . Alun stood unsteadily between the physiotherapist and the nurse. ‘One step at a time,’ said the physiotherapist in a warm encouraging voice. It won’t take long.’ He leant on the crutches and took a step forward, then another. ‘They fit well,’ said the warm voice, as Alun made his way from Bryn’s bed down to the babies’ ward. When he reached the door everybody clapped. 74
‘You’re over the border.’ ‘You’re on the mend.’ He came slowly back and Sara wheeled her chair behind him, smiling and encouraging him. She isn’t even thinking she will never, he said to himself. She isn’t even thinking. The physiotherapist made him go up and down again then she sat him on a chair, propped up his leg on a stool and held out his arms. ‘What’s this round your wrist?’ ‘My padlock. Can’t you see?’ ‘Frightened of losing it?’ ‘Not really.’ It was true – there didn’t seem much point clinging to it now. ‘You’ll have to spend Christmas here –’ the physiotherapist smiled sympathetically. ‘Then you’ll be going home.’ ‘Lots of things to do,’ said Mrs Williams, giving out pencils. ‘You’ll see. There’s nothing like Christmas in hospital. We’ll start getting ready soon.’ ‘I hate Christmas,’ said Alun. Mrs Williams pushed back her long fair hair and looked business-like. ‘It takes time to prepare properly. We like to do something a little different.’ Sara manoeuvred her chair: ‘Have you forgotten I’m going to Myddfai for the Ruby 75
Wedding? I’ll come back with plenty of ideas.’ Mrs Williams smiled. ‘Since you all seem quite obsessed with the story of Rhiwallon we will use it for Christmas. What about taking the theme of healing further? You could write poems, make pictures. Then we must make our own nativity figures –’ ‘And decorate the ward’ said Bryn, ‘Like at home. We plaster our house with decorations. My father says it makes him forget how badly he is doing.’ ‘Farming can only get better,’ said Mrs Williams cheerfully. ‘What about you, Alun? Have you any ideas?’ Last year Dad had bought a tree in the market. It was a real tree this time, not one of those phoney ones. They spread out a sheet to catch the needles and Dad brought the decorations down from the loft. It was always a good moment, looking at them again. Then Mam came in with Tony and gave him a drink and the arguing began. He could hear their voices in his head. ‘Why did you go and spend on that? Needles everywhere. What’s wrong with an artificial one? You can bring it out every year. You’re so –’ The decorations had tarnished in Alun’s hand, as if their shining had gone somewhere else. In the end he and Dad decorated 76
the tree in silence as if they were | getting ready for a funeral. ‘I hate Christmas,’ he told Mrs Williams again. ‘Not here you won’t,’ she replied, ‘You won’t have time.’ She delved in the plastic bag and brought out lumps of clay, dividing them between the children. Alun’s lump felt cold and clammy in his hand. His fingers were already working better, so he rolled up a little ball in his left hand and threw it at Huw. Then he flung more pieces into the air until Huw stopped laughing and shouted, ‘Hey, Alun, that’s enough.’ Mrs Williams stood over him crossly: ‘I didn’t give you that to throw away, did I?’ She swept away the clay and left him there, sullen, with nothing to do. He would like to pelt them all, everyone of them. He clamped his lips in anger. They don’t understand, full stop. Not a thing. Giving me clay to play with when I’ve, when I’ve – as if I’m Huw or someone. When I’ve, when I’ve – He put on his jumper and reached for his crutches. Mrs Williams rounded on him. ‘Where do you think you are going?’ ‘Toilet.’ She nodded and ignored him as he clumped his way between the beds. Everyone 77
busy, he thought, everyone talking together. And the only person who knew anything about him was ten years old and didn’t believe him anyway. He passed the toilets on the right and went through the swing doors and out of the main exit. Outside, a long stretch of grass led to other parts of the hospital. He hobbled over to a bench under a conker tree and sat there wondering where he could go. He knew there were places in Carmarthen, but he didn’t know how to go about it, not with his crutches and everything. Perhaps they had information at the job centre – that’s where everyone went, didn’t they? It was the sort of building anyone would go into, however down and out, and come to think of it he might meet Dad there and – He was thinking so hard he didn’t see Olwen walk over to him. ‘Mrs Williams says you’re to come back.’ He said nothing and looked away. ‘Come on, Alun, it’s cold out here.’ Cold! He hadn’t even noticed. ‘I like being out here.’ ‘It’s not allowed. Anyway, it’s horrible. All these vans and car parks. Come on, Alun.’ She held his arm. ‘We could make something together. You’re spoiling everything and you know how it matters.’ 78
He turned and looked at her in close-up – her long, brown hair, her small nose, her flecked brown eyes, her little mouth, her small teeth. He liked the way she spoke as if she really meant it. ‘Oh, all right,’ he said and she promptly picked up his ? crutches and handed them to him. ‘You should always keep those next to you.’ He accidentally touched her hand and to his astonishment his anger melted away. Would she really work with him? All the afternoon they sat at the table opposite each other. She was modelling Joseph and he was making Mary. They had to be the same size, they decided, about twenty centimetres high. ‘My Joseph looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame,’ laughed Olwen and Alun smiled. He wanted to go on being near her so he worked hard, dipping the fingers of his left hand into the yoghurt pot of water so he could wet the clay and work it better. Soon he forgot his anger. Perhaps he could make something of being here with Olwen. Funny, he had never really thought about her at school. Well, you didn’t, did you, not if your head was filled with shouting. The afternoon sun shone in a pool of gold on the cupboard mirror. Now his nightmare 79
went away with all the other bad dreams he had had. Sometime later Mrs Williams lifted up his little figure. ‘She’s really beautiful. Have you done clay work before?’ ‘In the infants,’ he said, but he couldn’t make it sound scornful. He looked at the figure in Mrs Williams’s hand and was amazed at what he had done. The gentle face, the long soft fall of the robe. His Mary was the opposite of all he had been feeling. ‘I’d like to show everyone this,’ said Mrs Williams and before he could say no she took his little figure round the little group and showed Sister who was bustling in from the babies’ ward. ‘Hidden talent,’ said Sister and added rather sharply to Alun, ‘and mind you don’t hide it any longer, Alun.’ ‘The Inspector will be pleased with this,’ said Mrs Williams proudly. That night Alun wondered why they had not punished him for disobeying the rules. Perhaps it was because they were pleased with his work. Perhaps that was the answer: if he worked hard they might not treat him as a criminal or a nutcase and put him away. He looked down the ward at the girls’ end but could only see Olwen’s hair piled over the pillow. In his mind he walked over and kissed her just as if she were a princess or 80
something. Then he stopped himself daydreaming because Huw was awake and he might read his mind. He was that sort of kid. The moon shone through a crack in the curtain and Huw was staring at the mirror. Alun followed his gaze but tonight he could only see a sparkle of white where the moonlight tipped the glass. Yet there were shadows and a shadowy figure and it would be good to tell everything to Rhiwallon. He knew it was a daft thought but tonight everything seemed possible. After all, he’d made his dream mother figure and everyone had thought she was lovely. After a long silence Huw pulled himself up. ‘He’s back,’ he whispered and the whites of his eyes shone. ‘He might help you. Why don’t you go and touch him?’ Perhaps Rhiwallon was back and his eyes were letting him down. Alun looked round the ward. Nurse was in the office and everyone else was asleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he had this small buzz of energy in his blood. He felt for his crutches and heaved himself out of bed. Every step he took sounded deafening to him but no one woke. He moved fast and it didn’t take him long to come face to face with – 81
He stared, amazed and half disappointed. For this time it was not Rhiwallon peering at him from the shadows of the mirror: it was Dad, looking half crazy with a bandage over his head as if the world had given him a terrible headache. Dad was smaller than he remembered, as if he was at some distance, but recognisable, the same small nose, the same screwed-up eyes, and a mouth like a question. Then Dad went away and he was looking at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t believe it. He had grown, a few centimetres or so and his new hair, bushing outside the bandage, was curly, like Dad’s. Before he could collect himself there was someone else coming into the mirror. ‘Whatever are you playing at?’ asked the nurse. ‘Look,’ he said, without thinking. ‘I’m taller.’ ‘You didn’t have to get up in the middle of the night to find that out,’ she said, but she wasn’t cross and walked behind him as he returned. She propped his crutches against the side of his bed and tucked him up. He wanted to tell her about Dad, but it didn’t come out that way. ‘Thanks,’ he said and looked over at Huw whose eyes were shut so tight they were almost trembling. That meant he could talk to the nurse privately, without Huw hearing. 82
He found himself speaking to her quite easily. ‘You know the tale about the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach and how she married then went back into the lake and her son Rhiwallon became a healer?’ The nurse nodded and looked at her watch. ‘So it’s story-time, is it?’ she smiled. ‘And what’s all this about a ghost in the mirror?’ ‘How did you know?’ ‘There’s always been something special about that piece of furniture,’ she said, looking at the cupboard. ‘They say it came originally from an old haunted house in the Black Mountain. It was Sara’s grandmother who gave it to the hospital, a long time ago now.’ Alun nodded. ‘It’s daft, isn’t it? I never believed in ghosts before but I have seen him –’ he thought of Rhiwallon’s tense, searching eyes – ‘but not today. Today it was me looking like Dad. Do you believe in ghosts?’ The nurse sat beside his bed and whispered, ‘Yes and no. After all, when we get old our heads are full of ghosts.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘The ghosts of our childhood I suppose. And it is true to say that some people are more sensitive to the paranormal than 83
others, especially when they are in trouble, like everyone here.’ ‘Morgan doesn’t believe in them.’ The nurse nodded. ‘Ghosts are not for everybody, you know. The truth is, Wales is haunted by its past. All the old burial grounds, the old stones, the old stories and legends. Think of Merlin up the road. In Wales if someone sees a ghost with their own eyes it is not all that surprising.’ ‘I know it’s daft,’ said Alun, ‘but I think Rhiwallon cares for us.’ ‘Some say he still wanders about here trying to help people,’ whispered the nurse. ‘Who says that?’ ‘I wouldn’t know.’ ‘What about if you’ve done something really bad?’ The nurse looked at him intently. ‘Sleep,’ she whispered, as if she could read his thoughts, ‘sleep. It will do you a power of good. I’ll get something to help you.’ In the low night light Alun thought he saw Rhiwallon smiling at him, holding out his hands. He leant up and took Myddfai from his locker. Maybe Rhiwallon had sent him the little black calf to keep him company when he went to prison.
84
Chapter Five
BREAKING THE SILENCE By late afternoon the next day, a thin frost lay on the grass and rooftops. Alun watched a car draw up, white powder clinging to the edges of its windscreen. The outside door opened and shut in a blast of cold air. Sara swirled her chair round and wheeled down the ward towards her mother. Sara was wearing a woolly white jumper and a long flowery skirt. Her fine gold hair was brushed up and there was a touch of lipstick on her lips. ‘She doesn’t know she’s in another sort of prison,’ thought Alun as Sara whizzed back and struggled to put on her overcoat. ‘Work hard,’ she said to the others when she was buttoned up. ‘I’ll think about you all.’ ‘Bet you won’t,’ said Bryn, trying to spike up his orange hair with a handful of gel. ‘Bet we won’t cross your mind.’ ‘Don’t forget to ask about Rhiwallon,’ said Huw. ‘You must be out of your mind,’ said Morgan putting on his glasses to read a computer magazine. ‘There’s nothing to know.’ ‘You like to make out you’re so clever,’ said Olwen, ‘but it’s all memory and no 85
imagination.’ She turned to Sara. ‘There should be lots of contacts in Myddfai. How many are going to the Ruby Wedding?’ ‘Everybody in the family and old friends, aren’t they, Mam?’ Her mother nodded. ‘Time to go,’ she said, smiling round. ‘The forecast is not too good and we don’t want to get caught. The main road to Llandeilo isn’t so bad but I heard there was an accident on the road to Bethlehem.’ Alun shut his eyes. Of course he knew about Bethlehem. Dad had once taken him there to get his cards stamped at Christmas. But in his head, time skewed and he was watching the great star in the east crash down into the hilltops, making a bonfire of the whole Christmas story. The stable was burning and his beautiful clay model of Mary cracked in two as she reached out in a vain attempt to rescue the baby from the cradle. He opened his eyes. He must be off his head or something, but he couldn’t help it and he was still on the edge of that great accident as he watched Sara swing round her wheelchair. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when I come back,’ she was saying cheerfully. ‘You will find out more, won’t you?’ begged Huw, as she passed by. ‘We need to know if anyone else has seen – we need to know more about Rhiwallon.’ 86
‘Do we now!’ said Morgan flatly. ‘Make a few notes for the project,’ said Mrs Parry in her practical voice as she waved goodbye. She turned back to Alun and looked startled when he spoke in a disconnected way, as if he could only follow his own thoughts: ‘Can anyone bring dead people back to life?’ He couldn’t help the nightmare in his head. He sat there, unable to move, looking at the shape of a small dead body, heavy and still like a stone. Then he looked round. He knew by the silence that he shouldn’t have said anything. The silence felt threatening. In the end it was Mrs Parry who broke it. ‘You all know the story of Jesus bringing Lazarus back from the dead,’ she said, and he knew by her tone that she was afraid for him. She would be more afraid if she really knew, he thought. Suddenly everyone came to life again. ‘Good luck,’ they shouted as Sara and her mother disappeared through the door. ‘Time to clear up,’ said Mrs Parry, gathering up the books that Sara had left on the table. ‘Will Sara ever get better?’ asked Huw. Mrs Parry paused and looked at him shrewdly. ‘It all depends what you mean, Huw.’ She put the books on to the shelf. 87
‘Getting better is sometimes getting strength to cope.’ ‘That’s not getting better,’ said Morgan. ‘No. But it’s getting better inside and perhaps that’s the most important thing.’ ‘Some people can’t get better inside,’ said Alun. ‘If you really want to you can,’ said Mrs Parry, ‘though wanting to can be difficult.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘It sometimes means you have to take a leap in the dark. Not once but time and time again.’ She didn’t say more and by the time she had finished tidying up, the tea trolley had arrived and there was Ffion, running ahead of her family, fair plaits bobbing and her small face alight. She rushed up to Alun’s bed and rode Myddfai up and down the blankets. He watched her from his chair. ‘Will you be out soon?’ she asked. ‘After Christmas,’ he said shortly, following the china calf’s journey across the bed. ‘You could put Myddfai into your Nativity scene,’ said Ffion. ‘Huw said you’re doing the people in real clay. You’re lucky. At our school we only have Plasticine.’ She wrinkled her nose and looked up as her mother came in, large and smiling and surrounded by other children. 88
‘As if she’s at a party,’ thought Alun. Under her flowing coat Mrs Gwynne wore a purple dress. She was holding a tin in her ample hands. ‘A little present for being up,’ she said to Alun. ‘You look different up. Taller somehow.’ She sat herself down in the chair and talked and laughed as if she had all the time in the world. Then she stood up for Tony who was coming towards them in his leather jacket and expensive trainers. He sat down and looked hard at Alun. ‘You talking today?’ Alun nodded. ‘You read that note I gave you?’ ‘Lost it.’ ‘That’s what you think of your Mam, then?’ He couldn’t answer. ‘Looks like it to me,’ said Tony helping himself to an apple Alun had saved from lunch. He chewed loudly and showed his big white teeth. ‘I know why she doesn’t come,’ said Alun but he couldn’t bring himself to say any more. Tony laughed coarsely. ‘You keep everything to yourself like a rat in a trap that can’t squeak. Talk about a one-way conversation. Take after your father if you ask me.’ 89
‘Don’t you bring my Dad into it.’ Tony looked at him seriously. ‘It’s not really funny, you know. You’ve hardly said a civil word to me since I’ve been visiting you. I don’t know why I bother, specially when you think of all that slaving away I’ve done. I’ve made your room really nice. Well, I had to for the baby . . . didn’t I? I was getting no sleep at all when she was in with us.’ He took another bite at the apple and turned to Huw’s Mam. ‘Bright yellow it is now. Nice and cheerful. Not like him. There’s a limit, isn’t there?’ Huw’s mother looked as if she was about to reply but Tony had already turned back to Alun. ‘As for your Mam, it’s between you and her. If you won’t read her note there’s nothing I can do.’ He stood up and threw the apple core into the bin. ‘At any rate, I’ll tell her you’re on the mend.’ ‘Where have you put my posters?’ asked Alun. His room was his refuge, the only place in the house where he could be himself. It was at the top of the steep stairs and opposite the other bedroom. He could do what he liked up there. He often used to open the window on Priory Street and make sure his bike was still padlocked to the hook. His 90
room was so private it might have been hidden away at the end of a long corridor in a great castle or palace. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone interfering with it. Least of all Tony. How dare he muck around with his room? How dare he! As for the baby . . . He turned his face to the wall then turned back and watched Tony press his hands into his thighs as he sat down again. ‘Posters,’ he was saying, ‘That’s a funny thing to bring up. As it happens, I thought you’d be pleased to have some new ones. Your Mam told me you used to walk to the museum with your father so I got them there on the way back from a removal at Llandeilo. Thoughtful, eh? Specially as I’d never been in there before. Your old ones weren’t half tatty, specially that bike one. And that pin-up! Looked as though you’d been kissing her all night.’ He laughed coarsely. ‘Well, there you go. Spent a bit of money, I did. Surprise, see? Well, what do you say?’ Alun shrugged his shoulders and the silence came down again until Mrs Gwynne told him to open the tin and it was biscuits all round. ‘I hear Sara’s gone home for the Ruby Wedding,’ she said warmly. ‘Huw says she’s sure to find out more about the legend up there, being in the very place.’ 91
‘You don’t know,’ said Alun flatly. ‘There might be nothing to know.’ ‘He’s either silent or a right little arguer,’ said Tony confidentially to Mrs Gwynne. ‘Never mind, the biscuits are good,’ and he opened the tin and helped himself to another one. ‘Welsh legends are never quite reliable,’ said Mrs Gwynne, smiling inoffensively. You’re quite right there, Alun. Not like the Christmas story. That always brings a true understanding of peace and hope.’ ‘Could do with more of that,’ said Tony, wiping his mouth with a bright red handkerchief. After a few more cheerful comments, Mrs Gwynne left them and Alun fell silent again. Tony stood up. ‘Well, out into the gathering dusk. It’s blowing a gale and it’s really cold. They reckon we’ll have snow soon. Local to North and Mid Wales. Think of that – Bath in bright sunshine and us snowed in!’ Alun still didn’t respond. ‘At this rate it might be worth my while to get back where I came from!’ Tony looked angrily at Alun and strode down the ward, doing up his jacket and humming tunelessly to himself. The next day was colder; low grey snow clouds drifted across the sky. ‘We haven’t had snow for ages,’ said Olwen, ‘I do hope Sara is all right.’ 92
‘She will be thoroughly enjoying herself,’ said Mrs Williams, throwing another lump of clay on Alun’s small wooden board. ‘We need good work from you, young man, what with Bryn having X-rays and Morgan at physio – you’ll have to be the leading light for a while.’ ‘And Huw?’ asked Alun. ‘He won’t be long. I think you know there’s some sort of infection in his leg and they’re taking tests. So would you make the baby? He has to be quite small to go in the little manger. You would do it well.’ She smiled so he couldn’t say no. ‘What about me?’ said Olwen. ‘One of the Wise Men?’ Olwen nodded. ‘The one who carries gold.’ She was wearing a fluffy pink jumper. She looks younger today, thought Alun, and for some reason the thought comforted him. ‘These will have to go on,’ said Mrs Williams and gave out blue plastic aprons. ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead –’ began Alun, then shrugged. It made them both the same, he thought, Olwen and me in our silly blue plastic aprons! They worked in a companionable silence until Olwen told him her aunt Angharad was expecting a baby. Her first, after ages. ‘My Mam had one,’ said Alun. Olwen looked up quickly. ‘Well, there you are. You do know about babies.’ 93
They worked in silence again. ‘I’ve never seen your Mam,’ said Olwen suddenly. ‘She’s gone away,’ said Alun quickly. ‘That creep Tony comes instead.’ He tore the clay apart and wiped his hands free of it. ‘I thought he was your dad?’ ‘He’s nothing like my dad. He’s like –’ but he couldn’t think of the words and simply added, ‘My dad’s gone away too.’ Olwen looked surprised. ‘But at least Tony comes.’ ‘He’s the last person!’ said Alun. ‘I wish he’d never come near me again.’ ‘Why ever not?’ ‘I’ll tell you what he’s done –’ said Alun, putting down his clay. ‘He’s taken over my bedroom; he’s taken down all my posters; he’s painted the walls bright yellow; he’s gone into the museum where I used to go with Dad’ – he couldn’t bring himself to say more. Olwen shrugged her shoulders. ‘Sounds as if he’s trying to do his best.’ ‘Best?’ said Alun, ‘If you knew what else he’s done you couldn’t say that.’ ‘What else has he done?’ she asked, looking at him with her straight brown eyes. Alun spoke in a low, venomous voice. ‘Got rid of my dad, that’s what he’s done.’ 94
He squeezed the clay tight so it oozed up between his knuckles, but he didn’t dare say more in case everything came out. Olwen laughed uneasily and held up the piece of clay she had been trying to mould. ‘Yours is like a tube of toothpaste and mine is – let’s face it – another – what’s he called – Quasimodo . . .’ Quasimodo, thought Alun, greasy Quasimodo in his black leather jacket. But Olwen’s anxious laughter steadied him and when she said, ‘Come on, we haven’t long,’ he began to mould the clay again and found that his fingers were even more supple. He stroked the clay, pushed it about, threw it down on the board, sloshed it with water and fingered it again until the shape began to show and he forgot his anger. When Olwen smiled at him her smile went into the clay and he wanted to make the baby smile like that. Come to think of it, he knew quite a lot about babies. He knew their heads were large in comparison with their bodies, and he knew they learnt to smile within a few weeks even though Tony said it was only wind. He shaped the small limbs and made the feet look as if they were kicking. He rolled out a thin flat band of clay for the swaddling clothes that he wound round the body but not tightly, more like a shawl, so the little 95
feet still stuck out and the hands stretched towards him. He left the face to last and stared for a long time at the blank round clay. He took a thin pointed stick and shaped the eye sockets and in between drew up the clay into a tiny turned up nose. Then he drew a smile with the stick and delicately pushed up the clay for the lips. He left the eyes to last because he wanted to make them special. ‘Can you stay still for a minute,’ he asked Olwen, and without stopping to think he stared into her brown flecked eyes, almondshaped, crinkling up because she was laughing. ‘Oh, all right then. But be quick. Here are the others and they’ll think I’m funny.’ He looked back at the baby and increased the length of the eyes. Then he made the pupils and added a little incision to hold the light. It was then – and he didn’t know how– the baby opened his eyes and looked up, smiling, alive, waiting for him to pick him up. ‘It’s wonderful,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘I knew you had it in you.’ ‘Mine still looks like the hunchback,’ laughed Olwen, showing him to Huw. ‘Can I keep him?’ asked Alun. ‘After the carol concert,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘You’ll have to paint him next 96
week. He’s delicate so I’ll put him on the shelf.’ She turned to Olwen and picked up the Wise Man. ‘Is he bending over or something?’ Olwen laughed and Mrs Williams said he would look more regal when he was painted. Then she had an idea. ‘That lump on his back could turn into a lamb and he could be a shepherd.’ ‘We could have other lambs behind him,’ said Alun comfortingly as he watched Olwen’s face drop. ‘We could have a hillside,’ said Mrs Williams, stroking the air to conjure up a hill. ‘Your shepherd is rescuing one of the lambs and Myddfai could be with his mother and the other cows. They are moving down the hillside towards the stable or maybe we could have Myddfai looking into the crib at the baby.’ Alun shoved his hand roughly over his eyes. Something was rising in him and he didn’t know what it was. ‘You could make another Wise Man next week,’ Mrs Williams was saying faintly to Olwen. ‘Something to look forward to after your op. Sara will be back with us then. Now come on, Bryn, you must help me –’ But the voice in Alun’s head was louder than Mrs Williams’s ‘I didn’t mean it,’ the 97
voice was saying, ‘Honestly, Rhiwallon, I didn’t mean to kill the baby . . . The wind was in my head and I’d had enough. I didn’t really want to throw her down. I didn’t want her to lie so still I had to run away. I’m getting better now and they’ll come for me. I need you, Rhiwallon, I need you to help me. Huw says you’ll help me –’ Then darkness covered him and he felt Rhiwallon’s hand in his. Perhaps Rhiwallon was leading him away into a past that existed before his nightmare was born. When he opened his eyes he couldn’t move. His hands, his arms, his neck, his head, his body, his feet, his tongue were quite rigid. He was lying on his bed again. There were voices in the background but they were a long way off and inside he was frozen into an awful silence. They had drawn the curtains and he thought Sister and the doctor were watching him. He listened to the silence. It was like a frost that curved round his horizon, a chalk pit that choked him with white dust. It seemed as if he had lived in the silence for a lifetime and there was no way out. Sister and the doctor went away and there was Mrs Parry and Mrs Williams bending over him, smiling, trying to make him comfortable. Then they disappeared and for a long time he lay surrounded by the 98
curtains with their folds and their blood-red flowers. After what seemed an age, Huw’s head appeared between the curtains. He quickly smiled and placed Myddfai in Alun’s hand and withdrew again as if he should never have come. It was after this, from somewhere far away, Alun heard it: a low thin scream that grew and grew into the silence, louder and louder until it cut down the silence and the silence itself turned into the scream. His scream. Sister and Mrs Parry rushed in, gave him water, stroked his hand. He was shaking and crying. As tears streamed down his cheeks, Mrs Parry wiped them gently away with a tissue. Sister went off, ‘to get something that would calm him down.’ ‘A good cry always does you good,’ said Mrs Parry. Her voice was so gentle he found himself speaking to her, holding nothing back, not even those words that were like pieces of ice and burnt his mouth. ‘It was the wind, see? It was in my mind, so I couldn’t think. I threw her down and there was this blood on her head. She didn’t move; I couldn’t bear the way she didn’t move. Don’t you see, I must have k-kkilledher!’ His breath came and went in fits and starts and Mrs Parry gently wiped away his tears. 99
‘I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t. She was Tony’s, see, and I hate him, but I didn’t mean to.’ He looked up through his tears. ‘Will they come for me, Mrs Parry?’ ‘No, no bach, of course they won’t.’ He began to cry again and she said firmly, ‘A glass of water. Now take deep breaths. Like this.’ When he was calmer she settled him down on the pillow and Sister brought in the tablets. ‘Two now,’ she said, ‘and more water to help them down. We’ll leave the curtains round so you can have a good sleep.’ When they had gone Alun held Myddfai tightly until he became drowsy and his mind wandered back and back to the other place and the other time when he was quite small and had nothing on his mind: Dad was holding him by the hand. They were at the foot of the Black Mountain. Calves were running alongside their mothers and down by the river Myddfai was standing on the bridge, reaching up for his mother’s udder, his rope of a tail shaking as he drank.
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Chapter Six
THE VISIT During the night snow had wedged against window sills and doors and turned trees and grass into an untouched world of white. A feeling of quiet mystery hung over the hospital grounds; jets of cold air spurted through ill-fitting windows into the warm ward. ‘Listen to this,’ said Morgan, adjusting his spectacles to read the small old print. ‘In 1813 the Towy was frozen over for three weeks affording a solid support for skates and a promenade of two miles in length for youthful rambles.’ ‘What a way to write,’ said Huw. ‘Tadcu remembers the great snowfall of 1947,’ said Bryn. ‘He lives with us, see. All he does is to tell stories and tell Dad farming is not what it was in his day.’ The children looked longingly outside. Alun turned from the window. ‘Where’s Olwen?’ ‘She went up for her op this morning, when you were still asleep,’ said Morgan. Alun wished he had given her Myddfai as a mascot. That was what he had meant to do until – but he was pleased nothing was said about his strange fit, as if it was part and 101
parcel of what normally happened in hospital. The others went on chatting excitedly and there was even a feeling of close companionship as if in such weather no one could ever reach them again. ‘It’s still coming down,’ said Huw. ‘I wish we could go out and sledge.’ I wish I was home,’ said Bryn. ‘We have a big log fire, see, and sometimes Mam brings in a late-born lamb and puts him in the oven, to thaw out. We can’t afford to lose lambs these days,’ he added, sounding more like his grandfather than a boy. ‘Your dad should go in for computers like mine,’ said Morgan. ‘You have to move with the times.’ ‘Do you now?’ said Bryn. ‘My family has been on the farm for three hundred years. You must be joking.’ ‘I wonder if Sara will get back,’ said Huw. ‘The snow might go on and on. Perhaps they’ll just forget our school. Without Sara and Olwen there’s not many of us.’ “That’s the trouble,’ said Morgan. ‘The Inspector won’t be impressed. In the end it’s numbers, you know, not what we do’ – he pointed to the displays of their work round the walls. Alun looked round. An air of festivity had already touched the ward. The nurses had put up some decorations and a few Father 102
Christmases hung from the green pipes and smiled down at Alun. He was soon distracted, however, by the group of adults who stood in a cluster outside the nurses’ office. Mrs Parry was speaking in a low voice to Sister and nearby Mrs Williams was nodding and shaking her head. She unfolded a large piece of paper and read it quickly. Had the letter from the police come? Would they turn him over? It was funny: he felt detached, as if the weight he had carried for so long had at last been given to someone else and he was simply left watching and wondering. Yet when Mrs Parry came down to start afternoon school it was as if nothing had happened. ‘I can see we’re not going to get much done this afternoon,’ she said, ‘so it might be an idea if we rehearse the carols. We’re not exactly a male voice choir but we can do our best.’ ‘Can we go out?’ asked Morgan. ‘It would be nice, wouldn’t it? But let’s be honest, none of us are up to it. So we’ll sing instead. Not me, as it happens. You see, we’ve just had bad news and I’ve got things to do. But as you know, Mrs Williams sings like a lark.’ So it has happened, thought Alun, wishing for a moment that he could simply run out 103
into the snow and lie down and sleep forever. Then he remembered Olwen and wished he could take her with him and start again somewhere. At that moment a toddler came through from the babies’ ward and Mrs Parry picked her up. ‘Do you want to join in?’ she asked. The little girl nodded and Mrs Parry stood her next to Alun. ‘Just you make sure you look after her,’ she said firmly. Mrs Williams sat at the piano, playing and singing ‘Away in a Manger.’ The little girl put her hand into Alun’s as she sang. He felt a real charlie, but there was nothing he could do. ‘Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.’ Perhaps it was the image of the baby in the crib that made everything go even more distant. Mrs Williams seemed to him to be miles away, her fair hair moving as she played, her tiny mouth opening and shutting as she sang. She asked him to read out the words from the next carol and told him he sounded like a robot that had not been wound up. ‘Is it your eyes?’ she asked him and Alun shook his head. ‘Shall we try again?’ she said gently. 104
Then everything came back into focus and his voice sounded louder. But it still wasn’t his voice. It was deeper than usual and from time to time it squeaked. He looked outside. The snow was falling softly and the window still framed that white unmarked place he longed for. Now the door to the garden was opening and only the little girl stopped him from running out. Then everything went remote. It was Mam coming into the ward. She waited at the other end, smaller than he remembered, a neat, trim lady with blonde hair and a sharp face. He recognised the shining handbag Tony had bought her and a rush of feeling took hold of his heart. He stopped singing and let go of the child’s hand. ‘How are you?’ asked Mam, a little later, when the tea-lady was pushing the trolley up the ward. Alun was sitting on his bed and she was in a chair beside him with a cup of tea in her hand. ‘All right,’ said his new gruff voice. There didn’t seem anything else to say. Mam opened her shining handbag, took out a tissue and blew her nose. ‘They asked me to come up,’ she said stiffly, looking hard at him. ‘It’s been bad, I can tell you. If it wasn’t for Tony I couldn’t have got through it. He’s tried to help you as well, and all you’ve done – Well.’ She 105
shrugged her shoulders. ‘They asked me to let you know the baby’s getting better. It was touch-and-go, I can tell you. Poor little thing. I didn’t think she’d pull through. But they said if I stayed with her it would help.’ Mam’s voice went high and squeaky. ‘It took a long time but she’s on the mend now. They said you ought to know.’ She didn’t smile and Alun’s mind kept her at the wrong end of the telescope. ‘That’s wonderful,’ he said but he wasn’t sure whether to believe her. Mam blew her nose again and fiddled in her bag. ‘I don’t know how you could have done it to me, Alun. I tell you, it’s beyond me. Then going and getting yourself run over – you know as well as I do what it is down Castle Hill. All that traffic going out of town – and on such a night – if only I had known!’ He wondered why she covered her face with the handkerchief and made a funny noise. ‘Why didn’t you come before?’ his deep voice asked. She sniffed, pressed her lips together and answered abruptly, ‘I sent Tony, didn’t I? I sent a note. No reply. Nothing.’ ‘I’m sorry, Mam,’ his voice said. ‘I was sleeping up there for nights,’ she went on. ‘Watching Catrin, wondering which 106
way it was going to go. Do you understand what that means?’ ‘Yes, Mam. I’m sorry, Mam.’ ‘No proper sleep. No proper living. Just waiting and watching, while poor old Tony . . .’ She gave Alun a long hard look. ‘That’s what I had to do, all because . . .’ She pulled her coat fussily over her shoulders and sipped her tea. They sat in silence again and he reached for his own drink that was getting cold on the locker. So he wasn’t a murderer after all. But the relief didn’t come. His mother had saved the baby and he felt like her enemy. They sat stiffly together, drinking, until Mrs Parry came up and put a hand on Mam’s shoulder. ‘Well there we are,’ she said cheerfully. ‘This one’s on the mend too.’ She patted Alun’s head. Mam looked up sharply, on the defensive. She didn’t smile like Huw’s Mam and offer chocolates and ask him how he was getting on. ‘We’re really pleased with Alun,’ said Mrs Parry as if she wanted to hold on to the conversation. ‘He should be home soon after Christmas. It might be an idea if we could talk about that.’ Mam nodded but her mouth had set and Alun knew instinctively, deep down in his 107
heart, that she was afraid of him. Of what he might do. Again. But she hadn’t turned him over yet, to the police or to anyone else, so she must care some way or another. ‘I’ve asked the social worker to come,’ said Mrs Parry conversationally, ‘She’ll have a talk to Alun in a day or two and visit you at home, Mrs Roberts, when it’s convenient.’ Mam nodded but her look was veiled. Alun knew what she thought of those! She had no time for ‘Bits of do-gooders.’ Maybe she would change her mind. Maybe she needed a social worker now, to guard against him. In case there was another hurricane and he went mad again. He felt confused. The black birds were flapping in his head. Would he ever feel at home now his bedroom had turned yellow and his posters were screwed up on the floor? And the new ones were nothing to do with him, or Dad for that matter. ‘Where will I sleep?’ he asked. ‘Where you always do, of course,’ Mam said, in a small quick voice. ‘We’ll have to have the baby in with us.’ Protecting her, thought Alun. He lay back and shut his eyes. Despite the marvellous news he felt cold, as if Mam had brought a handful of snow and thrown it over him. She’d only come because they’d asked her to, he thought. 108
Outside the trees groaned and lurched in the wind. Snow splattered the birds as they circled round, looking for somewhere to perch. ‘It’s not easy,’ Mrs Parry was saying to his Mam. ‘But I believe there’s always a way through. I promise you, we’ll do all we can to help.’ That night Alun lay in bed for a long time listening to the wind as it scuffed the snow and the river and the Black Mountain. His mind wandered by the glacial lake and he imagined the Lady of the legend rising from the dark water to visit him, but when his mind peered closer he saw that she was his mother. It was then it came, the great sense of relief that pulled him up and up as if he was riding the sky on the back of the snowy wind. He was flying high at last and nothing, not Mam’s fear or Dad’s absence or his broken leg or his battered head or his dark thoughts or his yellow bedroom could stop his elation. Tears ran down his cheeks. His little sister was alive and one day he would see her again! It was as if the snow had chosen them. It covered Mid Wales and part of the South but elsewhere it was sunny, though cold. The Tywi was still flowing in Carmarthen, but Mrs Parry said the lake at the back of their 109
house was frozen up and they were invaded by ducks and moorhens. ‘What about Sara?’ said Huw, and Alun imagined her on the Black Mountain, throwing away her crutches, walking in the snow, smiling. Funny how she always kept hold of the smiling and he never did. It was true it had stayed with him all night, even in his dreams. But this morning he had locked his smiling away again somewhere inside his mind. It was the thought of this social worker, he told himself. Mrs Wellsman. Who knew what she would do? She was part of the official lot, like the Inspector, the ones Mam said never listened and did just what they wanted. He sat up in bed, with the curtains round, waiting. When she came she had bright blue eyes and was much older than he had imagined. Her hair was grey and her voice sounded a bit like Mrs Parry’s, a sort of clear, bell-like voice. ‘Is there anything you want?’ she asked, pulling a chair near his bed. ‘Nothing.’ She waited so Alun said daringly, off the top of his head: ‘My bike.’ Saying that was like turning a key. To his surprise he found he could speak quite easily to her. 110
‘That’s not possible,’ she said firmly. ‘It was a wreck. You can never have your bike back. You have to face that, Alun.’ She waited again. Her blue eyes were patient, not like Mam’s, shifting and unhappy. ‘Will the police still come for me?’ he asked abruptly. ‘No,’ she said in her peaceful, straightforward way so he believed her. ‘Your Mam never went to the police and I’m here to try and help you.’ Outside it was still snowing. Layers of white turned the trees into strange shapes and everything was silent. It was like he had felt for the past few days. Under a white blanket so he couldn’t see or hear much though he knew there was this sunny patch inside. A bird swung across the window and he said without thinking: ‘Black birds.’ The social worker looked startled, but ignored the comment. ‘What do you want?’ she asked again, gently. ‘Tony painted my bedroom yellow. He pitched out my posters and bunged up some from the museum. He only went in because he was passing by. Not like me and Dad.’ Silence. 111
‘It’s not my bedroom any more, even if I sleep in it.’ ‘Whose is it then?’ ‘Tony’s,’ he said flatly. Her patient blue eyes made him feel safe. ‘I hate Tony. My dad walked out because of him.’ She nodded and waited. ‘I didn’t hate the baby,’ he said suddenly. ‘Only sometimes.’ He rolled the edge of the sheet round his fingers and spoke slowly. ‘I can’t live with Mam. She hasn’t forgiven me.’ ‘She’s been through a lot, too,’ said the social worker quietly. ‘She hates me.’ ‘No more than you hate your half sister.’ ‘Sister,’ he said quickly and added: ‘Nothing’s the same without Dad.’ ‘Have you any idea where your dad is?’ Alun shrugged his shoulders. ‘Where did he work?’ ‘On the railway. Neil Roberts the tickets. Look -’ He showed her the padlock dangling from his wrist. ‘It’s from the bicycle he bought me. He saved up. I know he saved up.’ She waited as he cried unashamedly and after a while he said again, ‘I want my bike.’ 112
‘Isn’t it your dad you want?’ she said. He lay back and put the white sheet over his head. He and Dad were together, running down the Black Mountain. He was laughing, looking at the cattle in a distant field. Then Rhiwallon came running towards them, hands outstretched, welcoming them both. Mrs Wellsman took the sheet away, held his head and made him open his eyes. ‘Don’t go away. That’s not the way to do it. The truth is, Alun, they need you as much as anyone else. Think of that.’ She handed him a tissue. He blew his nose loudly and couldn’t help saying. ‘When Mam came I thought she’d smile.’ ‘Well, all the others are smiling, all your friends here,’ she said gently. It was true. Huw and Bryn were shaking with laughter and even Olwen was joining in from her bed. As he looked round they seemed to include him in the laughter even though he didn’t know what it was about. ‘We’re doing things for the carol service,’ he said. ‘We’ve been working on the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach. She reminds me of my mother.’ Mrs Wellsman looked surprised. ‘However is that?’ ‘Hard, I suppose. Setting up conditions you have to keep or she’ll leave you. When I was a little boy I remember 113
thinking she was beautiful, but always madeup and cold as if you couldn’t get to her real face. I never liked the make-up.’ He was silent for a while, thinking how close he’d been to the legend. ‘It’s as if I’ve slapped her for the third time. First I was upset because Dad went off, then I hated Tony and then I – but I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t mean to.’ ‘So what else are you doing for the carol service?’ ‘I’m making the baby for the Nativity. I haven’t painted him yet.’ ‘Do you enjoy that?’ ‘Yes,’ he said, and the thought of the baby he was modelling brought his mind back to his sister. ‘Her name has gone out of my head,’ he confessed. ‘My sister.’ ‘Catrin.’ ‘Catrin,’ he repeated. ‘I don’t know what made me forget. Has she grown?’ Mrs Wellsman laughed. ‘That’s one thing babies do. They grow through thick and thin.’ He felt as if he had never seen Catrin. As if, now she I had weathered the storm, she was someone else. He was filled with curiosity. ‘Will she be going home soon?’ ‘Very soon.’ ‘But I’ve got a bit longer,’ he said, lapsing into silence. ‘Would you like to see her?’ He was only half surprised she could read his mind. He felt as if she was near to him, travelling along the edge of things with him. He didn’t remember feeling like that with any other grown-up except Dad. 114
‘Mam might not want to bring her in.’ ‘We’ll see,’ said Mrs Wellsman, getting up from her chair and smiling. He felt unburdened again – as if his smile was no longer locked away. He wanted to see his sister more than anything else in the world. He hobbled down to the main door and looked out. Fresh snow covered the crisscross mark of tyres and footprints and birds. It looked as if the world was beginning again. Maybe that is what he had to do: begin again each day and not worry too much about what had happened before. Perhaps that was being like Huw and Sara and Olwen. Olwen! His heart warmed and he hobbled back and . stopped by her bed. Since her operation she looked paler and her hair seemed longer than ever. ‘You all right?’ he asked. ‘Hope so,’ she said. ‘I’ll be up soon. I’d better be.’ ‘That’ll make two of us,’ he said as she sipped her tea. ‘Sara’s back tomorrow,’ she told him. ‘I wonder how she got on. Mrs Parry says coaches and cars are skidding all over the place.’ She put her hands behind her head and stared at him. ‘Look at you!’ she said lightly. 115
‘What about me?’ ‘You’ve grown taller,’ she laughed and Alun changed the subject. He nodded at the windows that were patched with snowflakes. ‘Wish we could go outside.’ ‘Angharad used to take me sledging. She’s my auntie. My brother and I live with her and Colin, her husband. They haven’t any children of their own yet, but one’s on the way.’ ‘What about your Mam?’ ‘She and my father died. There was a pileup on the M4. It was a long time ago.’ There didn’t seem to be a corner of any conversation that was not touching on something that mattered. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, feeling inadequate. ‘It’s all right,’ said Olwen cheerfully, ‘I’m very happy. You’ve seen Angharad around, haven’t you? She’s a bit batty. That’s why she goes sledging – well, not now she’s having a baby!’ Alun wondered why he had never asked Olwen about herself before. Then he recalled the terrible burden of his thoughts and how they had blocked out everything. Like a curtain of snow. No, not like the snow. The snow was different. He made his way towards the window and for the first time he imagined himself 116
sledging, throwing snowballs, shouting, playing rugby. It seemed a long time since he had played. And he thought of the future when he wanted to be a doctor. Or was he muddling himself up with Rhiwallon? He turned and smiled at Olwen. ‘We’ll have a snowball fight when we’re better,’ he said and she looked at him in astonishment. ‘That’s not fair. You’re taller than me now. It must be that curly hair! They won’t know you when you go back to school.’
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Chapter Seven
SARA’S RETURN Nurse pushed Olwen up the aisle in a wheelchair. Her hair had been washed and hung fine and shiny brown round her pale face. She had a pile of thick grey paper on her lap. ‘They’re talking to the Inspector,’ she said, nodding to a short balding man in glasses who was standing by the office, talking earnestly to Mrs Parry and Mrs Williams. ‘They sent me up with this, so we can get on. Background for the Nativity. We each have a piece of card to paint. It’s all labelled, sky or hill. You have to fill in stars or grass or sheep –’ She turned to Alun: ‘Mrs Williams says would you be in charge please.’ ‘Me?’ said Alun in surprise, but he took the pieces of card from Olwen and piled them on the table. Everyone at round and Olwen manipulated her chair towards two empty spaces. ‘One for Sara,’ she said. ‘She’s due back – that’s if she gets here.’ Alun was shocked into a sudden awareness of the fragility of everything. Say Sara had an accident - say the car . . . He stopped himself. It was no way to think when he had a job to do. 118
Everyone looked out of the window as if they wanted to rehearse Sara’s arrival. The snow had been scraped away so the ambulances could still drive up to the building. Elsewhere it lay deep and untouched, except for a snowman the nurses had made in full view of the ward. He was round with small eyes and a little head half buried under a snowy hat. He wore a scarf that was also encrusted with snow and from his mouth a pipe stuck, protected by the huge rim of the hat. He looked surprisingly like the Inspector. Morgan picked up his card and turned it round so the land and sky were the right way up. ‘While we’re at it, what sort of weather are we having for the nativity?’ he asked. ‘It’s snowing,’ said Alun. ‘It’s night. The flat roofs of Bethlehem are covered with white. Orange lights show in their windows. The black sky is covered with gold stars and white snowflakes.’ Blobs of paint covered the bottom of yoghurt pots and Alun pushed them round the table and made sure everyone had water and a mixing saucer. ‘Black, please Sir,’ said Olwen and everyone else caught on and began to call Alun Sir. He found himself laughing. He almost felt as if he was laughing for the first time in his life. 119
‘Teacher,’ called Huw, ‘teacher!’ ‘I’ve got the star drawn in my sky,’ said Bryn. ‘You know – the star. It’s really big. At home Dad hangs a lantern in the shape of star over our stable door. “You never know what’s going to happen,” he says. One year | two lambs were born on Christmas Eve.’ Alun slid the yoghurt pot with gold paint down the i table. ‘Thanks, Sir,’ said Bryn. ‘I can put gold foil on it as well, then it’ll really shine.’ After a while Mrs Williams came down alone. It was difficult to read her face. ‘Well done,’ she said to Alun. ‘We’re doing our best,’ said Huw. Morgan looked over his glasses. ‘Are we for the chop?’ Mrs Williams smiled. ‘Impossible to say. These inspectors don’t give much away. That means we must go on fighting whatever – and saying how much we need the hospital school. Perhaps you could write letters to The Journal – get your names in the local paper. In any case, the Inspector likes your work, says he approves of developing themes round a local legend. He’ll remember that.’ Alun stared at the cupboard mirror. It reflected the shining snow of the world outside where they all longed to be. He nodded when Huw exclaimed, ‘I wish they’d let us go on.’ 120
Mrs Williams smiled. ‘You needn’t worry. You’ll be well out of it by the time they reach any decisions about closing shop.’ ‘I’d still like it to go on, even without us,’ said Huw wistfully as they got back to work. Alun forgot everything as he painted the lambs in the field. Nothing mattered except what he was doing and where he was – Mrs Parry anxiously talking with the Inspector; Mrs Williams in some sort of argument with Sister, pointing at the furniture as if it was already up for sale; nurse walking by quickly, a baby in her arms; the telephone ringing. He wished the afternoon could stay forever. ‘They are already closing two wards,’ Mrs Williams told them when she came back and poured out more paint. ‘And from the way they’re carrying on you’d think we were already out of action!’ ‘What do you mean?’ asked Morgan. ‘Sister tells me they’re going to take our big old cupboard. It seems they need it temporarily on Ward B. They’re not buying anything more, you see. When and if the hospital closes I suppose everything will be up for grabs.’ ‘Our cupboard?’ said Huw in horror. ‘They’re coming some time this week,’ said Mrs Williams, nodding in approval at Bryn’s star. 121
‘But there’s no key,’ said Huw. ‘They won’t be able to open it.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘He just does,’ said Alun quickly. ‘That’s no problem,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘They’ll soon sort out the lock.’ They were distracted by the sound of squeaking brakes as a car drew up outside. The next minute Sara was wheeling her chair down the ward with her mother behind. She was wearing a ski hat and a huge puffy coat that made her look like a giant Christmas present. She waved to everyone as she approached the table. ‘We nearly didn’t get through. If we hadn’t had chains on the wheels we wouldn’t have made it.’ ‘After Bethlehem it wasn’t so bad,’ said her mother. ‘The snow eased off and I could see more clearly.’ ‘That’s Bethlehem for you,’ laughed Huw. Sara looked round. ‘Who made the snowman? It’s really good!’ Mrs Williams gave her a big hug. ‘The nurses,’ she said, ‘and you’re looking well. Do you want to tell us everything before we get on? What about you, Mrs Lloyd?’ ‘I must get back,’ said Sara’s mother. ‘There’s still a lot of clearing up to do. We had a wonderful time.’ ‘I couldn’t possibly tell you everything,’ said Sara, after she had kissed her mother 122
goodbye. ‘Not in one go. There’s so much to say. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Not for anything. When we toasted Mamgu and Tadcu they both cried! Afterwards Mamgu talked to me about all sorts of things –’ she looked knowingly at Huw. ‘What sort of things?’ asked Mrs Williams. ‘All about legends and how they mean something although they are not real.’ She struggled with her coat and wheeled herself next to Olwen. ‘Mamgu always makes me feel different. More settled, I think. More -’ She looked at Bryn’s star that was shining at her from the opposite side of the table. ‘I don’t know. As if–’ But she couldn’t find the right words and simply smiled. No walking, ever, thought Alun. Knowing for sure she’ll never walk again. And yet she looks really happy as if she’s had a big adventure. Come to think of it, it wasn’t unlike what he had been feeling all the afternoon. As if a star was inside him and everything would be all right after all. It was early evening. The snow was swirling down again, padding out the snowman who was shining under a lamp-post. The few visitors had come and gone and supper was over. The television was blaring out local 123
news, mostly about the disastrous effects of the weather in Wales. The ward was warm and light, and while the nurses were sorting out the babies the children huddled round the table where Sara was sitting. ‘I told Mamgu about the ghost in the cupboard mirror and how we think it’s Rhiwallon because of the little black calf. Do you know, she didn’t turn a hair!’ ‘Go on,’ said Huw, his eyes shining. ‘Please go on.’ ‘I asked her exactly where the cupboard came from and when she told me, things began to make sense.’ ‘There’s no sense in ghosts and hauntings,’ insisted Morgan. ‘Isn’t there now?’ said Sara sharply. ‘Let me tell you, this very cupboard once belonged to one of Rhiwallon’s descendants who wrote about seeing the great physician in the mirror and being comforted by him. Mamgu’s mother bought the house where the descendant used to live and the cupboard was still there. When Mamgu got married she was given the cupboard and took it to Aberfan, where she and Tadcu lived. It was a year or so before the great tragedy – you know –’ I know,’ interrupted Morgan importantly. ‘The Aberfan disaster. October the 21st, 124
1966. The slag heap was over one hundred and eighty metres high. Rain water, waste and sludge slid down on the village. Most of the people killed were in the village school. In all there were one hundred and sixteen children and twenty-eight adults who died. I did a project on it at my school,’ he added. ‘Did you say October the 21st?’ said Huw intently. Morgan nodded. ‘Is there anything you don’t remember?’ said Olwen. ‘Think of being one of them, the children,’ said Alun. ‘Please get on with the story,’ said Huw. Sara pulled her cardigan round her shoulders. ‘By the ; time the disaster happened, Mamgu was pregnant. It was very hard on her because she knew so many people who I lost their children. It was terrible to see it on television when rescue workers brought out the dead children. She wasn’t sleeping very well at all, as you can imagine, not after all that had happened. In fact she was very ill with it. Everybody who survived was, you see. Anyway the night after the tragedy she got up to get herself a drink. Tadcu had put the old cupboard in the hall to house all their coats and boots. As she passed it she saw this figure in the mirror. It was a young man holding a black calf.’ 125
‘I don’t believe a word,’ said Morgan. ‘That’s what she told me, I promise you. She never saw the ghost again, mind you, just that once. Of course she knew the story of the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach and her physician sons - everybody did, and she thought perhaps Rhiwallon had come to help the poor people of Aberfan, or maybe to help her, for she was in a dreadful state and very nearly lost the baby. That baby was my Mam so it was just as well she didn’t.’ ‘I think Rhiwallon helped her keep the baby,’ said Huw. ‘It could be,’ said Sara, ‘though Mamgu said it was her prayers really. Anyway, soon after this they decided to move to Myddfai where Mamgu’s family had always lived. They took the cupboard with them and Mamgu was determined to find out more about it. It took her time, mind you, because there was a lot to do, what with the move and the baby.’ Sara stopped to take a breath. All eyes were on her. Everyone, even Morgan, wanted to hear her story and she was enjoying the telling. ‘Luckily Mamgu’s sister was doing a family tree. It was she who found out that one of the Physicians of Myddfai was in our family and this cupboard was in the house where he had lived - and where she lived now. What is more, she 126
found a few pages of the physician’s diary in the attic. I copied it out, look!’ She fished out a folded sheet of writing paper from the pocket of her cardigan. ‘October 22nd 1798: Yesterday our beloved daughter drowned in the Tywi. That night, in the mirror of the old cupboard we kept in her room, I saw the ghost of my great great grandfather Rhiwallon reflected in its glass. He had come to comfort us.’ ‘They say ghosts keep the anniversaries of tragedies,’ said Bryn. ‘My Tadcu has a story of someone dying on the farm and reappearing on the same day each year.’ ‘Story is about the right word,’ said Morgan. Alun didn’t argue. Once he might have thought like Morgan but that was a long time ago, before his accident, before he had seen Rhiwallon with Huw, before he knew what it was to forget everything and then to remember and to be healed. He couldn’t put his recovery down to prayer, could he? There was no one to pray for him except Dad – who didn’t even know he was in hospital. Anyway, he and Huw had seen Rhiwallon. Or was it because they were ill and wanted to see him? That’s what Morgan would say. An 127
illusion; a fantasy. But it didn’t feel like that. It felt as if someone had come into his life to help him, to heal him. Like Jesus, Dad would say. Think of the miracles, son, think of Lazarus who was raised from the dead. As Dad’s voice rang round his head Catrin came into his mind and he knew exactly what Dad was getting at. Rhiwallon was part of a local legend but there were more powerful truths than that. He sat stiffly in his chair. More memories came leaping into his head, like the salmon he’d seen jumping upstream when Dad and he had gone fishing. Thoughts of his father pressed down on him like clear water and overwhelmed him. He scraped back his chair and went into the toilet. He leant against the wall and wept for Dad, for all that happened and for the long path ahead. But it was a different sort of weeping, as if the memories had refreshed him and opened him up. He was weeping because he wanted Dad to know that he was growing up, that he was going to work, that despite everything he was going to make something of his life. Then the thought leapt out of the clear water like the big salmon he and Dad had caught together and flung back so that it could stay alive. He was going to become a doctor. 128
In a sort of triumph he washed his face and scrubbed it dry with a handful of rough green paper. He was ready to go back. The next day Alun wrote a letter to the Health Authority. ‘Will you post it?’ he asked Tony when he came in. Tony nodded. ‘Have you seen this?’ He dumped the local paper on Alun’s bed. ‘All about the closure. There was a big meeting. Pretty rowdy from the sound of it.’ 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 129
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 130
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 131
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? 132
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 133
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. 134
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 you 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.’ 135
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.’ 136
‘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 137
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.’
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Chapter Eight
MYDDFAI TAKES HIS PLACE Mrs Parry took off her gold-rimmed glasses and wiped them. ‘A little announce-ment,’ 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 139
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: 140
... 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 141
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. 142
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 143
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.
He folded up the piece of paper and put it in his locker. Then he looked up at the nativity scene that seemed quite small from 144
his bed. This surprised him, for while he was writing he had the feeling it was so big he was inside it, next to Myddfai, with his hand on the calf’s head, looking into the crib where the baby kicked and gurgled and grinned at him. That night he found it difficult to go to sleep. In the low light the patch where the cupboard had been was dark and dusty. It made the ward feel makeshift as if it was already being demolished, pipes and curtains and windows already broken down, thistles and grass growing in their place. He imagined the wind blowing over the ground that was strewn with bits and pieces from their lives, nothing left but rubble and dirt, the same wind that blew on the night he came in. To his surprise, he didn’t care. He was almost glad everything was coming to an end. For the first time since he arrived he wanted to get out and begin again. A light went on at the girls’ end. It caught the few decorations that were already up and turned his gloomy impression upside down. There was a sense of gaiety down there, laughter he wanted to share. ‘Goodnight, Olwen,’ he called out, ‘goodnight Sara.’ Three days later, by the afternoon, all the decorations had been put up. They reminded 145
Alun of a night long ago – he must have been five or six – when the Christmas decorations in the living room were too beautiful to leave and he wanted to stay up all night. The silver and gold baubles were of every size and shape and hung still as the moon and stars in the night sky. The branches were laden with fairy lights and dark green needles and tinsel that led a sparkling trail into the deepest corners of the tree. Underneath, his presents were piled up, colourfully wrapped and labelled by Dad. He had felt on the edge of something so magical it made him hold his breath. He smiled to himself. He wasn’t exactly holding his breath now, but you couldn’t deny the ward had changed so much you hardly noticed the beds or the pipes or the curtains or the windows. Every space was filled with old and new decorations, paper chains of every description, mobiles of snowmen and Christmas trees and clowns. And in a corner by the swing doors, a tree that touched the ceiling, so laden you could hardly see the branches at all, only their outspreading shape. At the other end of the ward, the gap where the cupboard had been was now filled with the children’s decorations. Not bad, he thought, swinging his way back to his bed, where his cup of tea was getting cold. 146
The visitors had begun to arrive and despite his conviction that no one would now come, he couldn’t help looking up every time the doors swung open. When Huw’s Mam arrived in flowing green, covered with so many brooches and bracelets and scarves she looked rather like a Christmas tree herself, he thought she had brought a friend, for behind her family he could just make out a thin lady wearing a smart grey fleece coat and a hood that shielded her face. As she drew apart Alun saw the pram and immediately knew it was Mam. So he had been wrong after all! She looked round in a rather sharp way as if she felt lost in all the gaudy decorations and excited chatter. ‘Hi, Mam!’ he shouted and couldn’t stop himself smiling. The relief he felt was instant and physical like a stone lifted up from his chest. She turned to him and nodded and smiled a little as if she wouldn’t allow her feelings to be shown. It was the noise and all the people, he told himself. She never did like public demonstrations. Common, she called them. He struggled to his feet and quickly fixed the crutches under his arms and swung towards her. ‘All right, all right,’ she said. ‘What’s the hurry then?’ 147
Instead of saying something stupid he made his way back to the bed and waited patiently while she took off her coat and hat and manoeuvred the pram. ‘How are you, Mam?’ said his new grownup voice. ‘It’s like a mad house out there,’ she replied, ‘What with carols round the Sebastapol War Memorial and buskers outside Marks and Spencer’s. I tell you there’s no room to move. As for the traffic, they can’t get through and I hear there’s a pile-up further down the M4. It’s not surprising, is it? All that snow turning to sludge and everyone slipping all over the place. There’ll be flooding soon, you wait.’ She dusted the chair seat with her hand and sat down beside him. She cocked her head back and looked at him, with an enigmatic expression on her face. ‘Well, that’s one thing Tony never told me.’ ‘What, Mam?’ ‘You’ve grown. What ever have you been eating then?’ Alun shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s not bad food in here, Mam.’ ‘Better than mine I suppose.’ ‘Course it’s not better than yours.’ The hood of the little pram was up and he knew he mustn’t peer over it yet. He knew that if he was to hold the baby he had to be more careful than he had ever been in his life. 148
‘Do you want the rest of my tea, Mam? I don’t want it.’ ‘Doesn’t look up to much to me,’ she said, shaking her head and rocking the pram. ‘Do you want an apple? Huw gave it to me.’ ‘Seems like a lot of people give you things,’ said Mam, in a voice he couldn’t quite understand. ‘We’ve done good things here,’ he replied. ‘You will come to the carol service, won’t you, Mam? Day after tomorrow.’ ‘Tony’s social,’ she said in a final voice and looking at him straight. ‘And talking of Tony, we might as well come to the point. What’s all this about hating him?’ ‘I didn’t mean I hated him,’ said Alun quickly. ‘I wasn’t well, see? I’m really sorry.’ ‘Well so am I,’ she said. ‘Poor old Tony. Comes here time after time and tells me all you do is treat him like a nobody.’ ‘I am sorry, Mam. Really I am.’ Then he couldn’t help himself: ‘Can I –’ He took hold of his crutches and his mother looked sharp. ‘Where you going then?’ ‘I just want to get round to see Catrin.’ Mam looked at him solemnly: ‘What am I to believe?’ she said in a weary voice. ‘You haven’t been like my Alun at all. Not for a long time.’ 149
To his shame his eyes filled with tears. He felt there was nothing he could do to show Mam he was different now. Because he was different, of that he was certain, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He brushed away his tears and wondered what to say. But there was no time for the silence to come down for Ffion was already dancing up to the pram and leaning over the baby. ‘She’s lovely ,’ she said. ‘Look, she’s waking up. Can I hold her, Mrs Roberts?’ ‘Just a minute.’ Mam pushed the pram out into the centre of the aisle and wheeled it down towards the Christmas tree. She picked up the baby, came back slowly, and settled herself back in the chair. Alun and Ffion stared in amazement at the baby’s little face, her turned-up nose, her small mouth. ‘She’s like a dolly, ‘said Ffion. Alun had no words. He had half wondered if Catrin would always bear the scars of that night, so he would never be able to forget. But her skin was like a petal and although there was a mark on her head it was already half concealed by the dark hair that was beginning to thicken. He couldn’t help it. He held out his hand and stroked her head very gently. He couldn’t believe how soft she felt. 150
‘We could hold her together,’ he said, looking at Ffion. By now an admiring circle had gathered round, as if everybody in the ward wanted to celebrate Catrin’s arrival. Then Sister came forward and with great authority took the baby in her arms and congratulated Mam for having ‘such a beautiful child.’ Perhaps because of this Mam started to smile and indicated with a nod that Alun could sit in the chair and hold his sister. It was a moment he would never forget. He was a little afraid and awkward but his arms were firm and he rocked the baby gently until she smiled up at him. After that he didn’t mind what happened and soon, because everybody wanted a turn Catrin was passed from one friendly pair of arms to another until she came back to him. All the while Mam stood by, overwhelmed by everybody’s admiration. She even looks pretty, thought Alun, with her mouth turned up and the sort of glow on her cheeks he had only seen when Tony spoke to her. But it didn’t last long and when the crowd had gone Mam’s cheeks grew paler and her mouth went straight and then down as it had before. She took the baby and put her back in the pram and pulled up the hood again, 151
‘To save her eyes from all these bright lights. Poor little thing. She’ll wonder where she is.’ She doesn’t dare be nice to me, thought Alun, in a moment of stark illumination. She’s still afraid. How can I tell her it’s all right; it only went wrong because I was in a muddle? How can I tell her? He looked round for help but everybody was drifting away as Mam would drift away soon, wearing her hood to keep off the wet from the trees. Then he had an idea. ‘Would you like to see our Nativity figures, Mam? I made Mary and the baby. Myddfai’s there too. Why don’t you come and see?’ She followed him up the aisle and stared for quite a while at the scene. She even bent over the crib to see the baby. There was a funny expression on her face as if she was softening not because of what she saw but because of what she remembered. ‘When can I see Catrin again, Mam?’ he asked. Instantly her eyes grew hard and she looked straight at Alun. She said nothing but somehow or other he read her as clearly as if she had spoken. There was no doubt in his mind. She wasn’t ready to have him back. Not yet. ‘Get this Christmas rush over,’ she said. ‘Then we can settle down to some sort of a routine.’ 152
Whatever happened, he’d keep her to that. They walked back and she put on her fleece. With some difficulty he leaned over the pram and kissed the baby. ‘See you soon, Catrin,’ he said loudly, so Mam would hear.
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Chapter Nine
THE CAROL SERVICE Mrs Williams strummed the first bars of Once in Royal David’s City. The beds and wheelchairs had been pushed up together to the left of the Nativity scene and from where he was sitting Alun could just see the picture they had made together. Out in the ward the chairs were filling up. Alun watched Huw’s family settle down. They would enjoy the singing, especially Ffion. He waved to her and pointed to Myddfai. She smiled and nodded vigorously. She was wearing a red dress and little red bows on the end of her fair pigtails. The rest of the family were also dressed brightly. They reminded him of Dad’ s geraniums that stood bright and strong, whatever the weather. He sighed and watched Mrs Wellsman come in and sit by the window. What was she doing at the Christmas service, he wondered. Mrs Parry stood up in front of the school. She was small and thin as a pin, but she made everyone sit up. ‘Welcome to our Carol Service,’ she said, smiling. ‘We’ll begin by singing together While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night.’ Alun waited for Huw’s clear choirboy voice to take up the tune before he joined in. These 154
days he wasn’t too sure of his own voice. It was as if someone else had taken over. ‘The angel of the Lord came down and glory shone around,’ sang the stranger. It was hard to concentrate as more visitors pushed in through the door at the back of the ward. Alun couldn’t help looking, just to make sure. Suddenly his heart jolted. He nearly dropped the carol sheet. Were his eyes playing him up? Mrs Parry stood up again. ‘For some weeks we have been following a theme of healing, using first the local legend that you all know – the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach, and then the universal story of the Nativity. The work is all round the walls for you to see and now the children will read to you . . .’ At first Alun didn’t dare look out again in case it wasn’t true. He concentrated on his piece of paper then looked sideways to the chest of drawers where he could just see Myddfai with his nose in the crib. It was time for the Sussex Carol and he joined in but at the last verse when his strange deep voice was singing: ‘All out of darkness we have light, which made the angels sing this night,’ he once more scanned the open mouths, the bright colours, the babies waving their arms. Then he looked back at the carol 155
sheet. He had probably made a mistake, he told himself. But you never know. Maybe . . . And when it came to his turn to read he found to his surprise that he could do it better now he thought someone might be out there, listening especially to him . . . It was like telling the story but not the whole story. After all, he’d made a pact of silence with Huw and with Rhiwallon too for that matter. A part of it must always be a secret. When he had finished he sat down so abruptly one of his crutches crashed to the floor. That was OK,’ whispered Huw. ‘No secrets given away.’ The next carol was I Orwedd Mewn Preseb’ – ‘Away in a Manger, no crib for a bed,’ and Alun kept his eyes fixed on the carol sheet. Like that, he could go on pretending while he sang. He had often made mistakes, he told himself, especially since his eyes had been bad. Now it was Olwen’s turn to read, but even she could not keep his attention although her hair was shining brown and loose on her shoulders and her voice was high and clear like Huw’s. Excitement leapt about inside him like those dolphins he used to have on the walls at home. What home? he asked himself but even that thought didn’t still his feelings. 156
Everyone started to sing again and he couldn’t help lifting his eyes from the carol sheet. At first, in his renewed panic, there was only a blurred sea of faces, smiling, open-mouthed. Then, with a feeling of enormous relief, he saw him – small and lined and his hair touched with grey, but smiling, looking straight at him, until Alun was aware of nothing but Dad singing with him, as if they were alone in the room together: ‘Ding dong merrily on high, the bells of Heaven are ringing.’ Mrs Parry gave the last reading. ‘A special occasion’ she called it, because it was the last time they would celebrate here as a school. Afterwards Huw nudged Alun. ‘You all right?’ ‘My Dad – he’s out there.’ ‘Where?’ ‘Coming up the aisle.’ ‘I told you so,’ said Huw. ‘I knew he’d come. I knew it all along.’ Dad was smaller than he remembered, as if a layer had been peeled off, all round. More fragile and the paper-thin blue eyes somehow tired. But his smile had found its way into his voice. ‘So you’ve been in the wars too.’ Alun nodded. Now the moment had come he could think of nothing to say. 157
‘Get us a cup of tea, then,’ said Dad, amiably. One of the nurses was circulating with a big tray. Alun and Dad sat down and she offered them tea and cakes. For a while they ate and drank in silence while Dad picked the crumbs off his creased blue suit. ‘How did you know about the carol service?’ asked Alun. ‘She told me.’ Dad nodded to Mrs Wellsman who was talking to Mrs Williams. ‘You mean –’ As he spoke Mrs Wellsman turned round and smiled at them. ‘I’ve been in hospital too. She made enquiries when she visited. Someone from the church asked her to look me up.’ ‘Not here,’ said Alun. ‘Maidenhall. That’s where she found me.’ ‘But –’ They used to sing the rhyme at school. Maidenhall, Maidenhall, That’s where you go when you ‘ve no brains at all. He looked anxiously at his father. ‘I was working there. As a gardener,’ said Dad reassuringly. ‘It was somewhere to live while I looked round for another job and another place.’ For a while they sipped their tea in silence while the voices washed round them and they both followed their own thoughts. 158
‘Tony’s moved in,’ said Alun in a rush. ‘He’s taken down my posters and painted my bedroom yellow. And there’s Catrin –’ His father’s blue eyes deepened. ‘What about your Mam?’ ‘She’s – well –’ How could he describe Mam when he didn’t really know himself. ‘She’ll have to choose,’ said his father, almost to himself. She’s chosen, thought Alun, and the memory of their last conversation stabbed him. ‘Have you found somewhere?’ he asked his father. Dad smiled. ‘Don’t be daft, of course I have.’ Alun changed the subject. ‘Come and see the Nativity figures,’ he said. ‘I made Mary and the baby.’ They put their empty tea cups on to a tray and pushed their way back to the top of the ward. A light shone on the crib, so the baby looked as if he had a halo. His blue eyes were wide open, his hands reaching out as if he was trying to touch Mary. ‘He’s beautiful,’ said Dad. ‘I didn’t know you could do it.’ “That’s Myddfai,’ said Alun, pointing to the little black calf. “The one we found in the cupboard. You know, the one I read about.’ 159
Dad nodded and looked up at the green hills that crumpled up to the ice blue sky and the stars. ‘Does it remind you of anywhere?’ asked Alun. Dad thought for a while. ‘That place where we used to go in the Black Mountain near the lake. Do you know where I mean?’ Alun nodded. It seemed a long long way ago, as if all the places he had since been to blocked it out. And now here it was, in front of them, like Dad said. He suddenly felt tired and while Dad was admiring the scene he flopped down in one of the empty chairs. Olwen came up with her aunt and uncle and they talked about going back to school and meeting up. But it was too early for him to think about all that and when they went off for more cakes he found himself staring at Dad’s back. He couldn’t remember the stoop, or the streaks of grey hair, as if Dad had grown old while he had been away. Suddenly, out of the blue, he felt ill at ease, suspicious. Then as if he could read his mind, his father sat next to him and began to talk. ‘I couldn’t come before, Alun. Not for a while. Too much to work out. I wasn’t exactly ill but I needed time and I got that time at Maidenhall.’ Dad thought for a 160
moment. ‘I suppose it stopped making me sorry for myself, seeing all the others. Not just ill people, but down-and-outs. They look after them too, you know.’ He smiled. ‘And the digging helped. It was all I was fit for at the time. I knew you had your Mam so I wasn’t worried. You see I didn’t know what had happened to you until Mrs Wellsman came and told me. That was only yesterday, Alun, and it was only a bit of luck that she bumped into me. Another couple of days and I’d have been gone. The fact is, I have another job on the railway, starting next week. And a little flat with lots of shelves for books.’ He looked at Alun and the tired blue eyes filled with pain. ‘There’s room for you, Alun. Two nice little bedrooms, see. Mrs Wellsman reckons your Mam wouldn’t mind if you stayed with me. For the present, like. Would that be all right with you?’ ‘Don’t be daft!’ Alun said and Dad put his arm round his shoulders and squeezed him. ‘You’ve grown, son. Really. In every way. Taller than me now!’ It was funny, thought Alun, feeling bigger and stronger than Dad. It was as if, now Rhiwallon had helped him, he could help his father at last. He couldn’t quite work it out but he knew the two things were connected. He stared at Myddfai and the baby and the light Mrs Williams had placed behind the 161
crib. If he and Dad were in the picture they would be miles away, somewhere at the top of the hill where it was dark and the stars didn’t reflect their light. But they would climb down. Together, they would climb down to the crib. ‘What do you want for Christmas?’ Alun asked. ‘I’ve got all I want,’ said Dad, smiling. ‘What about you?’ Alun went silent. All the different voices in his head started up. I want to bash up Tony. I want to see Mam smile and kiss Dad. I want that badly but I’ll never get it. I want to hold my little sister again. I want it to be like it was. I want us all to be happy. Proper. A real family. Like Huw’s. I want to get stronger. I want to be a doctor. Yes, I do want to stay with Dad, as long as it’s not too far from Catrin and Mam. The thoughts clamoured but not badly. Not like the shrieking black birds. More like the insistent tunes country birds sang as they flew across the Black Mountain. He turned to Dad. ‘A bike will do,’ he said, smiling.
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