by Mary Grand
‘Yes, me. But we’re talking about Bethan. I don’t want her to go.’
‘I think she will have to decide that, don’t you?’ He turned away. ‘Now, today we must focus on Aled. OK?’
Her father shut the door and walked away. Catrin glanced again in Aled’s room: a place of faded posters, of faded dreams.
The morning passed slowly in the way it can when you are just waiting for one thing. Eventually, it was time to go to the service. Lloyd drove down to Rhossili church ahead of everyone else. Bethan appeared remarkably unaffected by the events of the night before, apart from a momentary fret about Gareth.
‘Dad will be alright, won’t he?’
‘Of course, but he’s very stressed at the moment.’
‘He’s never shouted like that before. What do you think I should do about this audition?’
‘I think it would be a mistake to go. You are all set for university: this is a huge distraction from that.’
‘I was looking forward to uni, but I was talking to my friends last night. They say I’d be mad not to go for it.’
‘We’ll have to talk more about it later.’
‘By the way, you know the flute that Grandad gave me–’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s beautiful, but I tried it out last night. I prefer playing the one you gave me. But I don’t want to hurt him–’
Catrin was secretly pleased, but said, ‘Use it today. Don’t say anything to Grandad. Heaven knows what he paid for it.’
‘OK, but it won’t be my best performance. Still, there won’t be many people there, will there? By the way, there is a real ’mare growing about my birthday night out in Cardiff.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You know, my party; it’s getting even more complicated now.’
Catrin smiled at Bethan’s wonderful ability to be so completely engrossed in the minutiae of her own life.
‘You can tell me about it on the way to the church. I’d better go and change.’
Catrin put on her best skirt and top, brushed her hair, and went downstairs. There was a knock at the door. She was surprised to see David and Anwen. Catrin grinned at Anwen. If David had gone out to choose a new partner who was as unlike his wife Sian as possible, he could not have done more. Anwen exuded warmth and friendliness. Catrin found herself engulfed in a warm, cuddly body, and overpowered by the smell of some type of rose perfume.
‘Hiya, it’s so lovely to see you again. Oh, happy birthday for yesterday.’
‘Thank you.’
‘We must go for a drink while you’re here, celebrate properly. David and I both have the week off, so we must do something while you are here.’
Anwen had bubbly blonde hair, and a bright red flowery dress. She spoke in a rather loud, slightly harsh, Welsh accent, more Cardiff than Swansea. Then Anwen looked down and noticed Safi, who was angling for attention.
‘Oh, God. Aren’t you beautiful?’ said Anwen. Safi, of course, was delighted to be acknowledged, and sat in front of her, excitedly wagging his tail, looking up expectantly.
‘This is Safi,’ said Catrin.
Anwen leant down and fussed him. ‘Oh, he’s gorgeous. I just love animals. If I didn’t work, I’d have loads. As it is, we have just the three cats.’
‘Are you enjoying living in the village, then?’
‘I bloody love it here. I was brought up in a pretty dodgy area of Porthcawl, bloody bikers. It’s great here.’
‘David said you were at your daughter’s?’
‘Yes, she’s getting herself in a mess again. It’s always men with her. You know, they never really leave home, do they? In fact, my second one is thinking of moving back in with me and David. They can’t afford to buy their own homes, can they, and then the rents mean they can’t save.’
‘That’s true. Well, we’d better get going,’ said Catrin.
Lowri and Mark were ready. Bethan, of course, took longer, but eventually, with Bethan clutching her new flute, they all left together. Even as Catrin left the house, she was hoping Gareth’s car would come screeching up the driveway, but it didn’t.
Catrin didn’t feel like talking to anyone on the walk down, but walking with Bethan was easy, as Bethan chatted away. All that was demanded of Catrin was the odd prompt of, ‘Oh dear,’ or ‘That’s lovely.’
As they arrived at the church, Catrin heard David say to Lowri, ‘Somewhere in this church is a small slit window that the lepers used to watch the mass through.’
‘Keep the peasants out,’ said Lowri.
‘I have no idea if that was enlightened for the times or not,’ said David.
There was a surprising number of people arriving, most of whom Catrin did not recognise. Her father seemed to be greeting them all. He looked very smart in a suit and had exactly the right expression of looking welcoming and sombre at the same time. Inside, the organist was playing quiet, inconsequential, rather depressing music. Her father had put various items of Aled’s on a table. There were awards for architecture, pictures and designs, and some photographs of him. Catrin noticed David’s mother giving out service sheets and went over to her.
‘Hi, Aunty Angela.’
‘Catrin, good to see you.’
‘You look well, Aunty Angela,’ she said, although it wasn’t quite true, as she thought her aunt looked older, had shrunk down.
‘The arthritis is awful, actually, but there we are. It’s lovely having David just up the road. You’ve met Anwen before, haven’t you?’
‘Yes. She’s great, isn’t she?’
‘Good for David. Terrible cook and gardener. I try not to look around when I go there, but, yes, she’s sweet.’ Her aunt looked around the church. ‘I hope this gives what you young things call closure.’
‘We’re not all so young, Aunty Angela. But, yes, I hope it helps.’
‘You’re right. Lloyd needs to let go now.’
‘He plans to go to America, permanently.’
‘Ah, I wondered when he’d make the move.’
‘You expected it?’
‘Of course. I’ve been expecting him to move out there for years, all things considered, but I suppose he kept coming back for Bethan.’
‘Do you mind about him selling the house?’
‘Not too much. I’d rather it was lived in. It’s not right a house being empty like that.’
Suddenly, Catrin thought of something, but wasn’t sure how to ask tactfully. ‘Um, the house. It was just left to my Mum?’
‘No, to both of us. But I already had my house, so your parents paid me my half, ‘bought me out’, I think, is the expression. Better for me that way: it gave me cash. Actually, it’s how I was able to give the house to David and buy my lovely bungalow. You know, David wanted to pay for the house, but I was having none of it. The government will only have my money when I’m gone, so I said, ‘No, you have it now’. You must come to the bungalow and have a cup of tea one day. There’s something I want to give you.’
‘OK. Yes, I’ll come soon.’
‘I was showing one of your pictures to a guest yesterday.’
‘You have one of my paintings?’
‘Yes, it’s of the downs. Beautiful.’
‘How did you get that?’
‘Your father gave it to me years ago.’
‘My father gave it to you? That’s odd.’
‘You were very good, you know–’
Catrin looked around. ‘More people have come than I expected.’
‘Mmm. Oh, I hear my David has been telling you all the family secrets–’
Catrin felt herself blush. Angela added, ‘You knew about my father. What a rascal, eh? I never minded too much. Isabel took it hard, though. Never got over it.’
Catrin was aware of people hanging about waiting for service sheets. Her aunt seemed quite oblivious.
‘I think I ought to go and sit down. I suppose I have to sit at the front.’
Catrin went to sit next to Lowri. Bethan was furt
her along the pew. She had taken the golden flute out of its case and was holding it close to her. Her music was already on a stand.
Catrin liked the inside of the church: the cold stone walls, the stained glass windows. It was cool and peaceful. She tried to remember the last time she had been to church. Her mother’s funeral had been quite a large affair in the church in Cardiff.
After what seemed a long wait, the vicar came in with a depleted choir. Catrin assumed most were on holiday or at work. She recognised the vicar: Idris. She remembered him coming to the house the day they were told about Aled. He had been very good with her mother. She guessed that he must have retired by now. He looked his age, and had put on weight. As he and the choir walked in, the congregation stood up in that self-conscious way people who are not used to church rituals do, everyone checking discretely that they were doing the right thing.
Catrin glanced around during the first hymn. The church was very small. It was possible to see most of the people there. She saw Harri at the back, who gave a quick nod of recognition. There were a few local people in casual clothes, not quite beach clothes but the women wearing light skirts, sundresses, and sandals; the men in shorts and T shirts. There were a few couples more smartly dressed. Catrin assumed they were friends of her father. Then she spied a woman tucked away at the back to her left. She looked extraordinary, and very out of place. It would be like finding some rare exotic queen conch shell on a beach covered in common mussel and limpet shells. Catrin had seen models like her in Bethan’s Vogue magazines, where a blouse cost more than her entire wardrobe. What was even odder, though, was the way she caught the woman staring at Bethan. As Catrin was watching, she saw the woman lift one carefully manicured hand and wind a lock of hair around her index finger, a gesture so familiar to her. It revealed tiny pixie ears. Catrin gasped. The resemblance between the woman and Bethan was uncanny. How strange. Was it possible that some relation of Elizabeth had come? The woman seemed to sense Catrin looking at her, and their eyes met briefly. It was a dagger-like glance, nothing casual about it. Catrin, feeling very unnerved, looked away.
Chapter Seventeen
Elizabeth stared at the back of Catrin’s head, numb with shock. She had spent the day before preparing herself for meeting Lloyd, rehearsing arguments with him. She had imagined it all: hiding at the back of a crowded church, a swift safe glimpse of Bethan. Then, after the service, she would take Lloyd discretely to one side. She would tell him what she thought: insist he tell Bethan the truth.
It had started well. As planned, she had arrived late to the service. However, the church was smaller than she had imagined, and Angela being on the door had surprised her.
‘Oh Elizabeth,’ Angela had said too loudly. ‘I thought you didn’t know the family.’
The corner of Elizabeth’s mouth had twitched. She had quickly taken a service sheet and sat as far back as she could. She had tried to remain calm. No-one was going to recognise her. She would be fine. She had glanced down towards the front of the church and looked at the backs of the heads of, presumably, the family. She had had her first glance of the girl she knew had to be Bethan. She was the only family member with jet black hair, and, even sitting, Elizabeth could see that she was tall. She realised that she had been trying to imagine Bethan with blonde hair almost as a defence. It would make Bethan more distant, even though the tiny baby she had held had had black hair. But there was no mistaking that this was Bethan. Nothing had prepared her for the striking similarity. Elizabeth found herself shaking and feeling very sick. She felt completely overwhelmed by her feelings. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry but, of course, she couldn’t. She felt very alone, just like she had in the hospital the night she had given birth to Bethan. She remembered being envious of the mothers with partners, family, all fussing them and looking after them. She had been the only one on her own. There had been one girl, much younger than her, maybe thirteen or fourteen, but she at least had her mother there. Elizabeth’s aunt had come, but she had been quite cold. The only warm thing that night had been her baby, who she had held close. Elizabeth could still smell her hair, feel those tiny long fingers, and remembered trying to drink in every last detail, each moment precious, counting down before she had to give her away. Elizabeth blinked quickly: don’t think about it, not here. She realised then that everyone was standing up, holding hymn books. She scrabbled for hers, and glanced over at the open book of the person next to her. The woman rather unsubtly showed her the number of the hymn.
Elizabeth distractedly found the page, but she couldn’t stop staring at Bethan. It was like looking at herself in her teens. The height, colouring, gestures, were all there. Bethan held herself more confidently than she had ever done. She was pleased about that. She liked the easy smile she saw. My God, that girl really was her daughter: that was the tiny baby who had grown inside her, who she had given birth to, who she had held close. And then given away. Elizabeth felt very hot and sick. She supported herself against the cool stone wall. Emotions darted around her like sparks. This was too much.
It was at that point that she had been aware that an older woman who sat along from Bethan was staring at her. Their eyes had met. There had been a flash of something, and she had felt defensive. The woman herself looked a mess. Elizabeth was amazed that any woman could let herself go like that. No makeup, shapeless dowdy clothes. She wondered if she was Catrin, and decided that, if she was, she hadn’t been much of a role model for Bethan.
Although the hymn was still being sung, Elizabeth sat down quickly, not trusting her legs to hold her. She breathed slowly. People would put it down to emotion. She just had to survive the service. She glanced along the pew, and saw that Angela was looking at her thoughtfully. She tried to smile. The church’s wall gave her coolness and strength. She needed to focus on why she was here. She had seen Bethan. She may not be dressed very well, but she was healthy and well. That was all she needed to know.
Lloyd stood up. Elizabeth was surprised at how little he had changed. He was well-dressed, and made an impressive figure. She could see where Aled had got his looks from. Of course, he went completely overboard in his eulogy to Aled, but then she guessed that was only natural. Just as Elizabeth was starting to calm down, Bethan stood up and played the flute. The beauty and skill of the playing was staggering. Her daughter could play like that! Elizabeth had enjoyed music, but her parents had thought it was a waste of time and she had concentrated on sport instead. Obviously, Bethan had had different experiences to her. To get to this standard she must have started young, gone for lessons, and passed exams. All those things had happened, and Elizabeth had known nothing about them. They were gone, like all the birthdays and Christmases, riding a bike, first words, first steps, and all the other firsts. They would never happen again. She had missed them all. Elizabeth pressed her lips together hard: she must not cry. Whatever happened, no-one must notice her.
Catrin was sitting nervously, watching Bethan play. She had had years of watching Bethan perform. So many times, Bethan had completely broken down before a performance or an exam. Lloyd had kept paying for things and Bethan did love to play. It was just playing in front of people: it never seemed to get any easier. When Bethan finished, there was that awkward moment when people didn’t know if they were meant to clap or not. The consensus seemed not, and the one or two who did quickly stopped. Catrin allowed her mind to wander back to that woman at the back: who was she and why had she been staring at Bethan like that?
Then the vicar stood up.
‘Before we go outside, I would like to give a short Bible reading from Ecclesiastes chapter three.
‘To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born and a time to die;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak.’
Idris looked up at the congregation. ‘Eighteen years ago, I visited Lloyd
and the family. They had just received the devastating news about Aled. It was a terrible day. We were all in shock. This poor family was numb with grief. It was a time of mourning, a time when no words seemed the right ones. It was right to keep silent. To lose a child is beyond words, and we feel beyond comfort. The circumstances around that death can make things even more difficult. The time to talk about things may have to wait.
‘However, that does not mean we are never to talk about them. Something I hear a lot of people say at funerals to people deep in grief is, ‘Time is a great healer’. Well, shall I tell you something? I don’t think the kind of time they are probably talking about does heal things.’
Catrin sat up, hooked.
‘You see the kind of time we are usually referring to is what the Greeks called chromos. It’s the clock ticking away, and everything we do to get our activities of daily life going. It’s planning, working, being busy. Chromos time keeps us moving fast: it gives us little time to think or talk. Now we need routine, daily life, seeing friends. I know that, and they can help us heal from that devastating, numbing, acute pain that comes with loss. However, I believe deep healing happens in karios time. This is when we are ready to slow down and to start to notice what is actually happening inside and outside of ourselves. It is about paying attention, allowing ourselves to be more thoughtful. It is karios time when we stop, think and talk about our past with courage and honesty. We have come to give thanks for the life of Aled, the brilliant young man who so tragically died. He was a son, a brother, and he had fathered a child. Can I just say this? Sometimes there are things we put off talking and thinking about, we keep busy. That can be right at times. However, we must make sure we eventually find the courage to talk, to reflect, about the less comfortable things. If you like, we need to unravel the past, try to understand what has happened. Then, I believe, we really can find that time can be a great healer.’
The church was very quiet. It seemed a very strange talk to give at a memorial. Idris pronounced a blessing, and then asked people to come outside for the dedication of a bench placed in Aled’s memory. Catrin saw the seat for the first time. It was plain oak, and beautiful. The plaque on it said: