She hadn’t been, hating the practice. She could never understand why people wanted to ogle the dead. ‘If you’d like me—’
‘No! That’s just what I don’t want you to do. Encouraged everyone to stay away, I have. Not everyone’s been put off, though. His face, oh, it’s burnt and not fit to lay eyes on. It’s not my son. Please, don’t come.’
It was a relief to be given permission not to view the remains of Earnest Owen. ‘Are you coming round for some supper later?’
‘Rachael’s going. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your family, and Idris’s, caring for us. But Gwilym and I are going to work on the allotment when I get back. We both need to do something, and there’s life there, with those vegetables, and they give life and health to others.’
‘I’m so grateful that people still want to work on them, despite what’s happened.’
‘We’ve still got to eat, cariad. And people here, with a few exceptions, are a good sort… Has your father turned up yet? I appreciate him rescuing Gwilym but I don’t condone the other things he’s done.’
‘No he hasn’t. I’m off to tell Sergeant Harries about him and Edgar Williams and the stolen goods. If my father does turn up, I hope to God it’s not at our house.’
‘Aye, me too. Good luck, cariad.’
Abraham dragged his old bones up the hill. Anwen walked the half dozen footsteps to the house on the corner of Gabriel Street. She tapped on the door, not wanting to alert too many other people. It wasn’t long before Harries came to the door, bags under his eyes, his face drawn.
‘What can I do for you this time, Miss Rhys?’ he said. ‘I had two hours’ sleep this morning and have only just got off duty.’
‘That’s more sleep than I’ve had. I have some important information, about the recent thefts and where the stolen goods might be. And about my mother’s so-called accident.’
‘I think you’d better come in.’
* * *
That was another week Anwen did not wish to live through again. She went over it as she took the road down to the hospital on her way to Sunday afternoon visiting. The sun shone from time to time through the half-hearted clouds, but the stiff wind meant it was no warmer today than on the recent overcast days. She pulled her shawl around herself.
Seven days had passed since Idris had collapsed and the last of the fatalities had been brought to the surface, days in which all the funerals had taken place. Anwen had been summoned to the police station in Rhymney to give a statement, along with Gwilym. The police had been to her house to collect the stolen items. Enid had finally confessed to Sergeant Harries what happened the day she supposedly fell down the stairs. Afterwards, Anwen had hidden herself away in her bedroom and cried. Da was probably far away by now.
Reaching the end of her street and the top of Jubilee Green, she bumped into Winnie Price and Elizabeth, coming out of the greengrocer’s.
Winnie launched straight into, ‘I was just saying to Miss Meredith here, you’ve all produced some lovely veggies between you. Nice and fresh, not like that old rubbery stuff James the Veg was fobbing us off with before. And at last there’s some good news.’
‘I don’t suppose the war has ended.’ Anwen’s hope sprang to life, though it had been misplaced at least once before.
‘No, sadly. But they’ve finally found a new Secretary of State for War to replace the late Lord Kitchener, and it’s our very own Mr Lloyd George.’
‘That’s something,’ Anwen said, trying to sound enthusiastic through the disappointment. She’d barely given the war a thought this last week of mourning, still less read of its progress in the newspaper.
‘Well I never, what’s going on down there then? Oh, and over there.’ Winnie pointed down the pavement to the butcher’s, then across to the McKenzie Arms. There were police entering both properties. Elizabeth glanced at Anwen, who could guess what she was thinking.
‘I wonder if they’re going to—’ Winnie began. ‘Oh yes, there you go… And again. Think it has anything to do with the thefts and the contraband found?’
‘Almost certainly,’ said Elizabeth.
They watched as Iolo Prosser was dragged from the butcher’s shop. His wife, Eileen, was screaming insults, not at the police, but at him, calling him a silly old sod and asking what she was supposed to do now. Straight after, Reginald Moss emerged from the double doors on the corner, his wrists cuffed. He wasn’t resisting like Prosser, though his face was contorted with anger.
‘You been shouting your mouth off?’ the landlord bellowed at the butcher.
‘No, have you?’
Moss didn’t reply. Both men were bundled into a horse-drawn carriage waiting on the corner by the bookshop, where Joseph Schenck was standing outside his door, looking on.
Sergeant Harries appeared from the butcher’s, trekking up to Anwen and the others when he spotted them.
When he was a few steps away, Anwen said, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard any more about my father’s whereabouts? You said you might be able to find out from Edgar Williams.’
‘No such luck, I’m afraid,’ he replied. ‘Mr Williams has happily told us of the hiding places of the rest of the stolen goods and given up the people involved, including those two we’ve just arrested. Reckoned if he wasn’t going to profit, they certainly weren’t going to. There’s loyalty for you. Since Williams has sung like a canary about everything else, I doubt he’s keeping your father’s whereabouts a secret. Got it in for the world now, has our Mr Williams. Are you off to the hospital to see Idris Hughes?’
‘I am.’
‘Give him my best wishes, and tell him I hope there’s no lasting resentment over his arrest.’
‘I’ll do that. Thank you, Sergeant.’
He lifted his helmet in farewell and strode down to the carriage.
* * *
Idris’s ward was busy today with visitors, though the mood was still solemn after the tragic events. Anwen noticed Dr Roberts was standing next to Idris’s bed, along with Isaiah. Isaiah spotted her, beckoning her over. Idris was sitting up, the colour in his cheeks warmer than it had been all week.
‘Well here’s some better news at last,’ said Isaiah when Anwen was in earshot.
‘Apart from Mr Lloyd George being made Secretary of State for War?’ she remarked.
‘Has he? Well I never. He’ll be prime minister next at this rate. No, it’s Idris. He could be cured.’
‘Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ said the doctor. ‘It’s all very new, but there is hope of a good prognosis for people with Idris’s condition.’
‘What condition?’ said Anwen.
‘I’ll leave you to explain,’ said Dr Roberts. ‘I have some home visits to make.’
When he was out of sight Isaiah said, ‘Are you going to tell her, Idris?’
As Idris heaved himself up, the pillows slipped sideways. Anwen rushed forward to straighten and plump them up for him.
‘Thank you,’ said Idris. ‘You might as well sit down.’
She took the rickety seat, wishing Idris would get on with it.
‘The doctor apparently took some blood from me and had it examined. He thought my symptoms might be due to what he described as an overactive thyroid. It’s some gland in the throat that’s important. If it produces too much thyroxine, it makes you ill. It’s what makes my heart beat so fast. Graves’ disease, he called it. He says the lump in my throat isn’t a large Adam’s apple, but a small goitre.’
‘Oh,’ was all Anwen could think of to say. It was hard to take it all in.
‘There’s an operation they’ve been performing the last fifty-odd years,’ Isaiah interrupted, unable to contain his hope.
Anwen went cold. Operations were dangerous. Violet’s cousin had died during one to remove her appendix. ‘What sort of operation?’ She heard the wobble in her voice.
‘They cut some of the thyroid gland away, so it doesn’t make so much of the thyroxine stuff,’ said Isaiah. ‘They�
�ve had lots of success in London.’
‘And that’s the problem,’ said Idris. ‘I’d have to go all the way there. And it costs money.’
‘Which the doctor said would be covered by the subscriptions,’ said Isaiah.
‘Yes, but I’d be off work a long while, even after coming home, with no money coming in and you having to keep me.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Isaiah. ‘We’ll manage all right. It won’t be long till Jenkin’s off to work anyway.’
‘That depends on what he does. And you need to put money away for when you retire from the pit. That pension you can get now won’t go far.’
‘Hark at him,’ Isaiah said to Anwen, indicating Idris. ‘Anyone would think he didn’t want to get well.’
It seemed like that to Anwen too. There was something else behind it all, there had to be.
‘We’ll talk about it when you come out,’ said Isaiah, in a tone that forbade any further discussion. He consulted the clock on the far wall. ‘I’m due to join one of the parties repairing the mine. Quicker we get it done, the quicker we’ll be back at work.’
‘Before you go,’ said Anwen, ‘you might like to know that they’ve just arrested Iolo Prosser and Reginald Moss for their part in stealing, hoarding, and no doubt profiteering.’
‘I’m not at all surprised,’ said Isaiah. ‘Top of my list, they’d have been. I’ll see you tomorrow, son. It’ll be good to have you home.’
‘Aye, Da. It’ll be good to be home.’
Idris watched his father leave the ward. As he did, an idea came to Anwen, regarding replacing the money Idris would lose with time off work.
‘So, what else has been going on in the outside world?’ said Idris.
Anwen was glad to be side-tracked from her thoughts, that she’d give more serious consideration to when she was alone.
* * *
It had been a long day for Anwen. She’d done twelve hours at McKenzie House, plus another two on the allotments, before she’d dragged herself home at sunset. In almost all ways, life was easier without her father around. She had a freedom she’d never experienced before. Uncle Hywel had moved in to contribute to their household but didn’t take up the role of man of the house. He was happy for her to make the decisions, as was Cadi, who’d also moved in. Her mother had fallen into an odd mood since Madog had disappeared; jumpy, frenetic, relieved at her new-found freedom, yet fearing it.
Anwen had flopped into bed without any supper well before ten o’clock. She’d been lying awake now for at least an hour, half drifting into sleep several times, but always jerking back to consciousness. She’d tried to give Cadi her room but she’d refused it, insisting she’d share with Enid because she’d cope better with her restlessness. But here Anwen was, disturbed anyway. Three days had gone by since she’d had the idea about Idris’s operation, but still it was rattling around her brain. He’d gone home on Monday so it would no longer be easy to speak to him alone.
At last she drifted off to a more settled sleep, punctuated by dreams of the lamp room and the casualties. She knew in the dream it was in the past, yet found herself stuck there, trying to get through the door into the yard. When she finally managed it, there were corpses on the ground, burnt and bloodied. There were muffled yet aggressive words being spoken, ones she couldn’t quite make out. She was in the state of trying to wake up, yet unable to move. There was something else, beyond the dream, something that needed her attention.
She awoke with a start: the muffled words were real, inside the house. She jumped from the bed and crept out onto the landing, listening. The sound was coming from Sara’s room – Uncle Hywel’s room now. She carefully pushed open the already ajar door to find her father with his back to her in the moonlight, cursing with foul words. Hywel had his back against the far wall, his hands up, palms facing out.
‘Where are my bloody things, you damned thief?’ her father was muttering.
Why was Hywel not doing anything? He was more than a match for Madog, taller, younger. She let go of the door, but it opened a little more on its own, squeaking before it came to a stop. Her father wheeled around, holding a short pistol aloft.
‘Da—’
‘Get over there with your bloody uncle and keep your voice down.’
She did as she was told, treading carefully, slowly, trying to gauge the expression on his face in the half light. He didn’t appear drunk.
‘There’s a pair of you, informing on me I ’eard from Prosser, before he was arrested. You’ll pay for that. Now where are my bloody things?’
‘The police took them, Da.’
‘Don’t bloody Da me. No daughter of mine, you aren’t.’ His oaths became thicker, as he raved in an undertone of her perceived shortcomings.
Anwen spotted something moving behind him. She tried not to look directly at the figure, who could only be Cadi. Her grandmother was holding something up high, though Anwen couldn’t work out what. Her father stopped talking. She needed to engage him in more conversation so he wouldn’t spot his mother.
‘Why did you push Mam down the stairs? What did she ever do but look after you?’
‘Bloody look after me? I look after myself. Just a bloody millstone she became, like the rest of you. Not like my boys, my lovely boys. Kept on and on she did, about being given more money, about my drinking and gambling. Nothing to bloody do with her, the bitch.’
‘That’s my sister you’re talking about,’ said Hywel, finding his voice. He must have spotted Cadi by now. ‘She was always too good for you.’
Cadi crept closer, lifting her hand higher. A chamber pot, that’s what it was. The urge to laugh filled Anwen. It was hysteria. She bit her lip to contain it, biting down so hard it hurt.
Madog lifted the gun a little, cocking the hammer, aiming it at Hywel’s head. ‘Shut your bloody yap, you bastard. If I hear another word I swear I’ll blow your bloody brains out. Too good an opportunity it was, her standing there at the top of the stairs, yapping on. Thought it’d give her a fright, a small fall. But even better: she lost the use of her legs and can’t go following me around anymore, pulling me outta bars, telling people not to take my bets, bleeding me dry of money. I had two daughters who could attend to the house, would do as they were told. What did I need with her?’
‘But Sara,’ said Hywel, the hatred glowing in his eyes. ‘You put too much work on her and it finished her off.’
‘One less mouth to feed.’
Cadi’s arm rolled back swiftly, clearly in readiness to swing forward and hit her son. Madog was concentrating on keeping the gun aimed at Hywel. Anwen’s heart was speeding, making her chest uncomfortable. She wondered if Idris felt like that all the time. She took a deep breath, readying herself to lurch forward to push her father down, once Mamgu struck a blow. Hopefully Hywel would do the same. As Cadi’s arm came forward, she took a step and the floorboard beneath her foot creaked.
Madog swung round. The gun went off just before the chamber pot made contact with his skull. Or was it the other way round? Anwen wasn’t sure.
All she knew was that at around the same time, her mamgu, her uncle and her father all hit the ground, along with the chamber pot that now lay shattered on the floor.
There were further sounds, from beyond the room. The light switched on.
There was her mother standing, albeit stooped, in the doorway.
‘O Duw, O Duw, what’s happened?’ The words were barely out before she crumpled to the ground in a pool of nightie, crying.
On the stairs there were stomping steps, urgent, coming upwards.
Oh Lord, who’s that now?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Idris burst through the bedroom door, narrowly missing Enid on the ground. She was still weeping. He examined the room in horror.
‘What the hell happened?’
There came a knock on the front door, loud and insistent.
Anwen was in a dream-like state, her family scattered round the room, with bits of china
between them. Her father was sprawled on the ground while Hywel was curled up, groaning. Cadi was on her back. Idris couldn’t tell what had happened to whom.
There was a growl from Madog. He lifted his head from the ground, looking around for something before he lumbered to his feet. Anwen stepped back.
‘You bloody bastards, I’ll get you.’ He sprang towards Anwen. She cowered, her arms over her head.
Something snapped in Idris, pouring forth a rage he’d never experienced before. He leapt across the room, lifting his arm and hurling his fist into Madog’s face. The older man went down once more, and this time he was silent.
The knocking on the door had already become a continuous thumping. Now it sounded like someone was trying to break the door down.
Anwen surveyed the chaos, then Idris, her expression that of a frightened child. ‘Thank you, Idris. Now, would you answer that please?’
He ran down the stairs, shaking his sore hand. Opening the door revealed Gwilym, his mother and several neighbours. The women present were all in dressing gowns and the men hastily dressed.
‘We heard a shot,’ said Gwilym.
‘Are you all right, love?’ said Rachael.
‘Madog, his mother, Mrs Rhys and Hywel Llewellyn are all on the floor. Gwilym, would you please get the doctor?’
‘Of course.’ He rushed off.
‘And would someone else get Sergeant Harries?’
Two of the male onlookers rushed off to perform the task.
Idris considered the people left. ‘Perhaps someone should wait here, too.’
‘We will,’ said the two remaining men.
‘I’ll get dressed, then come back to see if you need any practical help,’ said Rachael.
Idris nodded gratefully, ‘Thank you.’ He left the rest standing there, making his way back to the bedroom, treading carefully through the door to avoid the china.
Heartbreak in the Valleys Page 33