‘Lifting legs is one thing. Putting weight on them’s another.’
‘These are only the first set of exercises. There are three more after. You’ve only been going a week.’
‘I’m grateful to Miss Elizabeth. But Anwen, I don’t want to raise hopes. And I don’t want Mamgu getting into trouble from your da if he finds out she’s been helping me.’
Sometimes Anwen wondered if Enid wanted to get better. Along with the use of her legs, she’d lost much of her ardent spirit for life, as if the fall downstairs had knocked it out of her. ‘You shouldn’t listen to Da. We can only try.’
‘I was reading about the German air raid in the paper earlier. Got along the whole east coast from Scotland down to Norfolk, it said.’
‘Are you trying to change the subject?’
‘But this is serious. They dropped about a hundred bombs. The raids are getting worse. How long till they reach Wales?’
‘There were few casualties this time, and most were dropped on unpopulated areas and over the sea. Don’t worry about it, Mam.’
‘Shouldn’t you be on the allotment now?’
‘I suppose I should.’ Anwen went back to the bottom drawer, removing the clothes Mam had mentioned. ‘Now, you will keep doing the exercises while I’m out, won’t you?’
‘Until I get tired. Or until your father makes an appearance. I suppose I’m lucky he’s taken to sleeping in Sara’s room as he rarely comes to see what I’m up to.’
It saddened Anwen that her father treated Mam as if she didn’t exist, like she’d run out of usefulness for him.
‘Well at least he doesn’t bother me for his needs, as he used to call them.’
Anwen presumed she meant before the accident. But she didn’t want to hear of her parents’ intimate private lives.
‘Didn’t mind it before my fall, but when you’re stuck on your back, unable to move much, it’s like you’re a – thing. And he was so rough, angry with me for not being what I was. Hurt me, he did.’
‘Oh Mam, I wish you’d said before.’
‘What good would it have done? You couldn’t have challenged him without putting yourself at risk.’
‘No, but I might have got the doctor involved, or Uncle Hywel.’
Enid made an effort to heave herself up from the pillows, surprising Anwen by sitting up straight. ‘Don’t you dare tell Uncle Hywel anything, you understand? I don’t want him questioning your father. As for the doctor, it’s none of his business. Anyway, it’s over. Promise me you’ll say nothing of this.’
‘Mam, you’re sitting up properly. That’s marvellous.’
She slumped back on the bed. ‘Promise me!’
‘I promise.’
‘Now go and tend to your veggies.’
Anwen left, heading to her room to get changed. It was distressing, what Mam had told her. Yet what overrode that was the fact Mam had pulled herself up. It was the second time, after that incident a few months back when she’d found her sitting on the edge of the bed. The two together gave her hope that recovery was possible.
As she was halfway down the stairs, her father came through the front door.
‘Hello Da, I’m just going out to the allotments.’ He’d never had a good word for her waste of bloody time, but he hadn’t stopped her going, especially after Mamgu had been so enthusiastic about it.
‘Not before I’ve had a word. Get in the bloody kitchen and stay there till I get down.’
She did as she was told, listening to him pounding his feet up the stairs, then a few seconds later, down again. Crashing into the kitchen in his usual manner, he threw something on the table. It was the magazine Elizabeth had given her.
‘What’s all this bloody nonsense? Where’d you get it from?’
‘Miss Elizabeth thought I’d like to borrow the magazine as she knows I like to read about recipes and—’
‘Bloody little liar. It was open at these exercises, for invalids. You had it hidden under your bed.’
He must have been searching for money again. Good job she always carried any she had about her person. ‘It must have slipped off the bed when I fell asleep.’ If only she hadn’t left it open on that page, he might have ignored it.
‘This is what I think of your exercises.’ He picked the magazine back up, ripping it into shreds, tossing them into the air so the pieces settled all around the room.
She was so busy watching the snowfall of paper, she missed him lunging at her, catching her full in the face with his fist. While she lifted her hand to clutch her cheek, he went in for a second time.
‘And don’t you bloody dare put ideas into your mother’s head. I told you: she’ll never walk again. You understand?’
Anwen ran to the hall, grabbing her coat off the stand. From the kitchen she heard her father shout, ‘And you can bloody clear this paper up too.’
Not now she wouldn’t. She had to get out of the house. It had become a place of misery in the last ten years. Tomos, Geraint, Sara, her mother now bedridden… Would her father drink himself to death one day? Or would he, more likely, slap the living daylights out of her and see her off too? She needed to dig, take her frustration out on the earth.
Across the road, Mary Jones’s smiled greeting changed to alarm when she saw Anwen close up. ‘What have you done to your face, love? Your eye’s all red and I think it’s swelling.’
She should have looked in the mirror before she left the house. ‘It’s nothing, Mary. Something fell off the shelf in the larder and hit me in the eye.’
‘You could do with some Zam-Buk balm on that. They sell it at Mrs Brace’s.’
‘I’ll do it later. I’d rather just get on now.’
Anwen took herself to the other edge of the field to work apart. That would hopefully attract fewer comments about her eye. It was burning and her sight was slightly hindered by the swelling. If she could get a few good vegetables dug up it might help her forget about the pain.
She built up a rhythm to her work, dig, dig, dig, pull – dig, dig, dig, pull. She was concentrating so much on it she didn’t notice anything until two shadows fell across her workspace, one near, one further back. She bolted upright when she saw who it was.
‘Oh, Gwilym. And Idris.’
Almost at the same time, the two men exclaimed, ‘What’s wrong with your…’ Gwilym went for ‘eye’, while Idris said, ‘face.’
‘Something fell off the larder shelf and hit me.’ If she said it enough, she’d convince herself.
Idris glowered. ‘Something hit you, or someone?’
She didn’t dare tell them what really happened in case they went in search of her father and a fight broke out.
‘Something. Is there anything else you wanted?’ She injected a little iciness in her voice to keep them at a distance.
‘Well,’ Gwilym started, ‘we were wondering if you needed any extra help, with your allotments.’
This she hadn’t expected. ‘I – I’m not sure. I should ask Elizabeth first. She’s in charge.’
‘Well, here’s your chance.’ Gwilym stepped back as Elizabeth approached. Beside her was Tom. His three-piece suit was at odds with his sister’s makeshift outfit of old trousers and shirt.
‘Hello Anwen,’ Elizabeth started, before gasping.
Tom followed on with, ‘Oh good gracious, what on earth has happened to—’
‘Something fell off the larder shelf and hit me.’ The lie was getting easier. ‘Don’t fuss, I’m fine. Gwilym and Idris want to know if they can help in the fields.’
Elizabeth clapped her hands together. ‘That would be wonderful! There is plenty to do now and in the next few days, harvesting and replanting.’
Anwen wasn’t sure she wanted Idris working close by, especially if Tom was going to be hanging around, but they did need all the help they could get and, who knew, he and Gwilym joining the teams might attract others.
‘I’ll show you what needs doing,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We have spare tools in the mi
ddle there. Anwen, are you sure you shouldn’t be at home, resting that eye?’
‘I’m fine, honestly.’
‘Very well. Follow me, you two.’
Left with Tom, Anwen said, ‘You’ve surely not come to help in that suit.’
He looked down at himself. ‘Good Lord, no. Just came along with Elizabeth on the off-chance you’d be here. To ask you—’
‘Yes, I know what you’re going to ask me, but I won’t be going anywhere while my eye’s like this.’
‘It does look painful. Have you seen the doctor?’
‘Just needs a bit of Zam-Buk, that’s all. Don’t fuss. Let’s wait till I’m a bit healed up, all right?’
He nodded. ‘Of course. I quite understand. I’ll leave you to it.’ He took a few steps towards the road.
‘Or you could get changed and join us?’
He turned back briefly to wave and smile, then kept going.
* * *
‘You’ve got a face on you, Idris, bach.’
Idris rammed the spade into the ground, shoving his boot on the top of it to loosen the soil before dragging it up and tossing it to one side. His mother had nagged him about helping at the allotments, then had mentioned it to Gwilym. So he’d nagged him too. He was here to shut them up, but that wasn’t what he was cross about. It wasn’t even the brief appearance of Tom Meredith, though that was annoying enough.
‘I’m not a violent man, Gwilym.’
‘But?’
‘But I swear I’ll swing for Madog if I find out he hit Anwen.’
‘You don’t believe the story about something falling in the larder, then?’
Idris came to a halt. ‘Do you?’
Gwilym balanced the tip of his spade on the ground and leant on the handle. ‘No, can’t say I do. Anwen’s a strong girl, always been able to cope with life, but she needs people to look out for her, I reckon. And Madog…’
Idris stopped digging, straightening his back. ‘What?’
‘Oh, I dunno, mun.’
‘He’s up to something?’
Gwilym checked that no one else was nearby. ‘You reached that conclusion too?’
‘I’ve seen him creeping around, meeting people he wouldn’t normally give the time of day to.’ Idris told Gwilym about the night of the meeting, when he’d seen Madog with Edgar Williams.
‘You see now, not natural bedfellows, is it?’ said Gwilym. ‘Is Anwen in some kind of danger, do you think?’
‘Maybe. I warned Madog that I was watching him. Maybe I should. Or you could.’
Gwilym looked at him askance. ‘Why me in particular?’
‘Dunno. Just had an idea you admired her.’
‘Admire her, yes. Want a romantic attachment with her, no. Perhaps we both should keep an eye on him.’
‘You could be right.’
He returned to taking his frustration out on the soil, angry not only at Madog, but at his own body for letting him down so badly.
Gwilym dug more sedately beside him. They spoke no more of it for the moment.
Chapter Eighteen
Arriving home from work late one evening, Anwen was surprised to see her father still sitting in the kitchen. Normally he’d have gone out by now. His mother was at the opposite end of the table. There was an emptied plate in front of him, the whiff of meat suggesting Mamgu had made him supper.
‘Here she is,’ said Madog, sounding resentful about her absence.
‘I told him you were going with Miss Meredith to pick up bits for the allotment.’
‘Edgar Williams saw you go off in that motorcar. Doesn’t like people hobnobbing above their station now, does he?’
Unless it’s him doing the hobnobbing. It was a good job she hadn’t been in the motorcar with Tom. They’d have to be extra careful not to be seen when they finally organised something. ‘The allotment project is important—’
‘Cut your yapping. I don’t care about your bloody allotments. Doing good folk out of business, you’ll be. Then see where it gets you. Now you’re back, I’m going out.’
He left promptly, slamming the front door as always.
‘Why was he waiting for me?’ said Anwen.
‘He had it in his head you were up to no good. He’s developed an awful suspicious mind. Anyway, help yourself to the stew. Your father brought back some chicken and potatoes so I made them into a quick supper. I’ll be going now. See you tomorrow.’
Anwen followed Cadi out to the hall. ‘Thursday’s meant to be a meatless day now.’
‘It’s only advisory. And try telling your da that, especially as he fetched it back.’
‘Don’t you wonder where he gets this food?’
‘I try not to. Anyway, your mam’s asleep, but you might want to peep in on her when you go up. Tired herself out with the knitting, but at least it’s keeping her occupied. Meg and Florrie were round today too, so we’ve a little group of four making gloves for our boys in the trenches. It helps keep Florrie’s mind off her loss.’ There was a pause before Mamgu added, ‘And the knitting group makes us all feel a little bit more useful.’
‘Oh you are useful, Mamgu.’
She hugged her grandmother, grateful she’d brought a little bit of company to Enid with the group. Cadi had found some old, holey jumpers and vests at her sister’s, bringing them with her to unravel and make useful once more. Since then, Meg and Florrie had found items in drawers in their own homes. Uncle Hywel had even brought Mam down to the chaise longue on a couple of occasions, so they could have the group in the comfort of the kitchen, instead of them all perching on the double bed.
‘I’ll peep in on Mam in a minute.’ She opened the door, kissing her grandmother’s cheek before the older woman stepped out.
An overwhelming urge to be close to Sara engulfed Anwen. She trudged up the stairs, gripping the handrail as she went. She had a brief chat with her mother, before going to what was now her father’s room. His clothes lay in a neat pile on the chair, where Cadi had put them after laundry day. The drawers needed to be sorted out, and Sara’s clothes given to someone who could use them. Her few knick-knacks still sat on top of the chest of drawers, shoved to one side, including the paper stars from Christmas. Anwen decided she would move them to her own room. The book she had bought for Sara at Christmas, Peter and Wendy, was still secreted beneath blouses in one of her own drawers.
She sat on the bed, unmade as it was, facing the window and the sunset, faded now almost to royal blue, just a hint of blood red on the outline of the hills. Eventually she pulled herself up, sighing. She switched the light on and went to the drawers, to start the sad task of clearing them out. Her attempt to pull one out was hampered, its unusual weight making it cumbersome. There was a dull clunking. She opened it enough to see that it was full of bottles, lots of them. The odd bottle or two was one thing. But this? The drawer above had tinned meat and fruit, along with packets of tea and coffee.
She closed that too, sinking to her knees. The wood was cool as she placed her head against it, clutching her arms around herself. Where were Sara’s things? Under the bed? She drew herself round to peer underneath it. There were several sack bags, full of she knew not what.
Heaving herself up, she scanned the room. There was nowhere else they could be. The urge to cry over her sister’s lost things was more overwhelming than the worry about where these new items had come from. She picked up Sara’s remaining items from the top of the drawers and dragged her body to her room with them, sinking to the floor and giving in to the sorrow.
* * *
‘So you think your father’s buying stolen goods?’
Anwen sat in one of the fireside chairs, nursing the chipped cup Violet had given her, half filled with black tea. It had been a week since her discovery of the items in Sara’s old bedroom and she’d not felt comfortable talking to anyone else about them.
‘I don’t know. I think he might have had a win on that race that replaced the Grand National, whenever that was. A couple o
f months back? I remember him muttering how he’d had a lucky break and I’d just read about the race. I can’t report him to the police. What would that do to our family?’
‘And you don’t know if it’s true.’
Anwen’s whole body shrank inward, as if trying to disappear. ‘Sometimes I just wish…’ What did she wish? That it had been her father who’d gone, instead of her brothers and Sara? Or that he’d disappear, maybe run away with another woman? Much better if she could save him from the drink. She didn’t anticipate that happening, but rather saw a grey future of fear and her father’s dominance.
‘I know, fach, I know,’ said Violet. ‘March. It was at Gatwick. The Racecourse Association Steeple Chase, the replacement for the Grand National. Vermouth. That was the name of the horse that won. I remember thinking Charlie used to like a bet on the National and I wondered if he was aware of it.’
‘Have you heard from him lately?’
Violet jumped up, going to the door that led to the hall and listening. ‘Sorry, thought I heard one of the babbies. No, I haven’t had a letter for a few weeks.’
‘I’m sorry about that. Reading the daily war summary in the newspaper it’s clear the soldiers are very busy. Some Russian troops have now arrived in France to help, so maybe that will speed up the end. You must be missing Charlie terribly.’
Her friend sat down opposite her with a thump. ‘Oh Anwen, I know it sounds terrible, but no, not really.’ She let out a huge sigh. ‘It’s a relief, him being away. He’d become a bit domineering, to be honest, always wanting his own way. And those moods! Of course I want Charlie to come home, but I just wish he’d be different.’
Anwen’s sympathy merged with the dread of depressing inevitability: did all marriages end up with the man dominating the household and the woman sinking into servility? Would Idris have become a tyrant too? Yet his father wasn’t like that with Meg. Then again, who knew what went on behind closed doors?
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Violet. Perhaps when he gets back from the war, he will appreciate what a lovely home you’ve kept for him.’
Heartbreak in the Valleys Page 21