‘If I’d known you were going to leave them I would have eaten them myself sooner than seen them go to waste.’ Pushing the tin back into the oven Judy slammed the door. ‘The ty bach’s the first door on the right outside the back door. I’ve put a clean towel in the wash house – it’s the one with blue stripes.’
Rushing through the wash house and into the yard that separated the narrow strip of garden from the house, Tony yanked open the first door he came to. He only just reached the bowl in time. Sinking to his knees he retched violently, ridding himself of most of the contents of his stomach, but seconds later the world still revolved alarmingly around him. Feeling cold, clammy and extremely sorry for himself, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pulled the chain and staggered outside.
Someone – not Judy he guessed – had laid out the area in carefully measured vegetable plots. A row of bean sticks stood in readiness for spring planting, neatly stacked against the dry-stone wall that adjoined the neighbour’s garden, and he could make out the frost-coated leaves of rhubarb and winter cabbage.
Leaning against the wall of the house, he looked up. The sky was a rich navy velvet, the stars glimmering, diamond pinpricks of intense light – majestic, beautiful, awesome, and sick-making. Why oh why had he drunk so much? His mouth and throat felt as if they had been packed with sewage. His head was pounding, he was incapable of stringing two coherent thoughts together and despite the ice in the air he craved to be even colder.
Was it all a nightmare? Had he really gone to Laura’s house to see Diana or had he imagined it? He closed his eyes. An image of Diana sprang to mind, lying alarmingly still, her eyes closed, her head covered in blood – and Ronnie, crouched over her, his greatcoat more red than khaki. It had to be a dream. A bad dream! He couldn’t have killed Diana. Not a woman! Now men, that was different – he’d killed plenty of men – but then he’d been ordered to. That was war, following orders and killing men.
He felt blood trickling down from his nose over his mouth again and wiped it away with the back of his hand. That was it! He’d had a nosebleed. He often got them when he drank more than a couple of pints. No wonder he was light-headed. He’d made it all up – Diana, Ronnie, the house, the fight – a sort of daymare as opposed to nightmare. But, dear God, it had seemed real.
He opened his eyes again. He could almost believe he’d run from the house over the mountain and back down on to the road to the telephone box to call an ambulance. Stood behind a crowd of people, watching as Diana was carried out of the house on a stretcher.
It must have been his fear of Ronnie that had done it, coupled with the drink and his nosebleed. Ever since his last leave he’d been terrified that his brother would set on him again and turn him into mincemeat.
‘You all right?’ Judy interrupted from the wash house.
‘Looking at the sky.’
‘It’s warmer in the house.’
‘I’m all right out here.’
‘Some of us have better things to do than freeze out here, and I need to show you your bedroom.’
Hesitantly, not at all sure he could prevent his stomach from heaving again, he followed her though the wash house and kitchen to the foot of the stairs where he’d dumped his kitbag. As she led the way up the narrow staircase he caught glimpses of plump, naked pink thighs above thick, black stocking tops. Gabrielle would never allow him to follow her upstairs or precede her down, but then – he comforted himself with the thought – unlike Judy, his Gabrielle was a lady – a real lady with a title.
Tony Ronconi, younger Ronconi son, who had been forced to play second fiddle to his older brother, Ronnie, all his life had caught himself an aristocrat who worshipped the ground he walked on and he couldn’t wait to show her off to the whole of Pontypridd.
‘I warned you it wasn’t a palace.’
‘It’ll do.’ The door hit the side of the narrow single bed and the room was only just long enough to accommodate the bed-frame. He couldn’t help thinking it would have made a better broom cupboard than bedroom. Dropping heavily on to the lumpy mattress he touched the quilt. ‘It’s damp.’
‘It’s just cold. I haven’t slept in this room since the boys left in ‘39.’
He looked up and saw the top button of her pullover was unfastened. As he watched she deliberately moved her hand and unfastened the two below, displaying the V of her breasts.
‘Do you want to wash downstairs first?’
Thinking of his stomach he nodded assent. Pulling the drawstring on the top of his kitbag he heaved it forward and removed his wash bag. Beneath it were rows of neat little packages.
‘Want a present?’ On impulse he handed her a bottle of perfume he’d intended for Tina.
‘Ooh, Tony. What is it?’ She tore at the white paper. ‘Scent!’ Throwing her arms around his neck she kissed him.
Without thinking he reached up and squeezed her left breast through her woollen sweater.
‘Ooh, naughty,’ she squealed. ‘I’ll have you know I’m a respectable girl.’
‘Course you are,’ he mumbled, leaving his hand where it was.
‘You got a girlfriend, Tony?’
Too addled and exhausted to risk explanation he shook his head.
‘Shame, nice-looking boy like you.’ She laid her hand over his. ‘Ooh, you are cold.’
‘This is a bloody cold room.’
‘Mine’s warmer because it’s over the kitchen. Do you want to sit there a while?’
‘The kitchen.’
‘My bedroom, silly.’ Taking his hand she led him into the back bedroom. ‘See, it is warmer.’
‘And the bed’s bigger.’ Throwing himself on top of it, he closed his eyes in the hope that everything would finally stop moving around him.
‘Get your dirty boots off my best bedcover.’ Judy pushed his feet aside and began fiddling with his laces. As she loosened them, she pulled off first one boot and sock then the other. ‘You’re not thinking of going to sleep on me are you, Tony?’
He opened his eyes to see her unbuckling her liberty bodice.
‘Real scent, needs a real thank you.’ Dropping her vest and liberty bodice on to a chair she unscrewed the silver cap on the bottle and sprinkled the contents liberally between her breasts and over her bra. The sickly aroma of rotting roses pervaded the air, making his stomach heave even more. There never had been much love lost between him and Tina, which was why he’d bought her the cheapest scent he could find.
Judy pushed him playfully, rolling him over to make room for herself on the bed. ‘Here give me your hand, I’ll warm it.’ Taking his fingers she clamped it on the grubby pink, artificial silk cup of her bra. He could feel her nipples hardening beneath his touch and despite his nausea, instinct came into play. He could have been back in any one of the dozen or so brothels he’d frequented and offloaded his pay in between the Normandy coast and Germany. He hadn’t come home, he hadn’t had the dream about visiting Diana – he and Ronnie had never had a fight …
‘We’ll be warmer under the covers,’ he suggested thickly.
‘Ooh, naughty.’ She breathed chip fumes over his face and into his ear. ‘Only if you make me your girl. Ow … !’ she shrieked as he tugged at her thick elastic bra strap, pinging it against her back.
‘Your fault.’
‘Why is it my fault?’ she giggled.
‘Decent girls undress before they get into bed.’
‘I am your girl,’ she persisted.
‘Course you are.’ He wondered why every girl he’d ever met wanted the promise of the world with icing sugar on before they’d perform. ‘Bad’ girl, that is. He’d never had to promise a decent one anything. There was no point because there was only one thing they held out for – a wedding ring – but then that was the only kind of girl to marry …
‘If I’m going to undress, shouldn’t you?’ She unfastened the buttons on his blouse and unbuttoned his braces.
‘You’ve done this before,’ he slurred as she star
ted on his fly.
‘Only to my brothers when they’re pissed, and I always stop at underpants.’
‘Then you’re in for a revelation. I ran out of clean ones.’
‘You dirty beggar.’
Kicking off his trousers he lay back on the bed as she leaned over to start on his shirt. Sliding his hands around her chest he unclipped her bra, exposing her breasts. Screeching with false modesty she tried to pull it back but he proved stronger. Tossing it aside he stroked her naked breasts, weighing them in his hands and thumbing her nipples.
‘Nice,’ he mumbled, ‘very nice.’ Pushing up her skirt he tugged at her suspenders.
‘Watch out, these are my last pair of stockings without a darn. Here, I’ll do it.’ Aware that he was watching and drooling over every inch of newly exposed flesh, she pulled up her skirt and rested one foot on the bed. Unclipping her suspenders she leisurely rolled down one stocking. She would have liked to have carried on undressing slowly, but it was too cold. Moments after divesting herself of everything except her artificial silk bloomers she was under the covers beside him.
‘You’re freezing.’
‘Then warm me up.’
Without any further preliminaries he lay on top of her, pushing her legs apart with his knees.
‘You’ve still got knickers on.’ Diving beneath the covers he tore the elastic as he pulled them down.
‘You like it rough.’
‘You don’t?’
‘I like masterful men,’ she gasped as he thrust into her, ‘but not brutal,’ she squeaked as his fingers closed around her nipples, pinching them.
Moments after climaxing he rolled off her.
‘That’s it?’
‘You want more?’ He snuggled beneath the covers. The bed was soft, warm and comfortable. His eyes felt unaccountably heavy. Only vaguely aware of her fingers pinching, poking and prodding, he turned his back on her.
‘Tony!’ There was a sharp edge to her voice that ruffled the pleasant drowsiness that was stealing his senses.
‘I’m sleepy. Leave me be.’ He threw off her hands. ‘I’ll pay whatever you want, just leave me be.’
‘Pay! You bastard, Tony Ronconi! Get out of my bed this minute.’ Bracing herself on the headboard she pulled up her knees, placed the soles of her feet in the small of his back and kicked with all her might, sending him sprawling out on to the bare floorboards. ‘What do you think I am? You – you – filthy beast!’ she shrieked as, jerked into sudden consciousness and unable to control his nausea, he retched over the chair holding her clothes.
The next few moments blurred into a cacophony of howls, screams and evasive movements on his part as he grabbed his trousers and fled down the stairs. Barefoot, braces dangling, flies undone, shirtless he found himself out on the street. Judy was still screaming obscenities from behind the closed door as she slammed it behind him.
Sinking to his knees he perched on the kerb and leaned forward, head on lap, toes in the gutter. If only he’d been able to stay in the spacious villa his unit commander had requisitioned in Celle, with the Jeep he drove parked outside the door.
At this time of night he’d be comfortably ensconced in the feather bed in the fourth largest bedroom. In the morning he’d be gently woken by the smell of freshly ground coffee and frying sausages and eggs as Gabrielle’s mother, who had been given the post of unit cook, made breakfast. Just as he finished eating, Gabrielle herself, beautiful and elegant in her brown serge costume, her shining fair hair plaited back away from her face, would come in. She’d smile her special smile – the one she reserved just for him – before taking her place at her desk outside his CO’s office.
Gabrielle, his Gabrielle – with her at least he would be warm and loved.
‘Nurse John, can I get you a cup of tea?’
‘Only if you’re having one yourself, sister.’ Bethan moved her chair closer to the couch Ronnie was lying on in the examination cubicle the porters had put him in when they’d carried him into the Graig Hospital. The same hospital Andrew had taken Diana to, simply because it was the nearest.
Ronnie had showed no signs of stirring when she’d examined, cleaned and stitched the cuts on his hands and face. She was glad. Another half-hour – hour at the most – and the effects of the drug she had given him would begin to wear off and she was dreading him recovering consciousness before Andrew emerged from the operating theatre with news of Diana.
‘Nurse John, Dr John asked me to take over here. He’s in the office.’
Bethan knew better than to ask the sister if there was any news. She found Andrew, still in his theatre gown, slumped back in a chair, his feet balanced on the corner of the desk, a tray with teapot, milk and two cups set out at his side.
‘There’s no reason for you to have stayed. You’re not a district nurse any more.’
‘With you operating they were short-staffed. I was glad to help.’
‘You could go home now, take the car, I’ll call a taxi …’
‘What’s the news about Diana?’
‘I called in one of the military surgeons from East Glamorgan to help.’
‘Please, Andrew, don’t spin it out.’
‘You saw Diana, you’re a nurse. She’s still alive and that’s about all I can tell you. Given care and time, her arm and the other injuries to her body will heal. There’ll be scarring, of course, mostly superficial, nothing that will impede her movements and probably nothing that cosmetics and long-sleeved dresses won’t hide.’
‘And her head injury?’
‘There were bone and glass splinters in the wound. We’ve cleaned it out and repaired her skull as best we can. But I wouldn’t even like to hazard a guess as to the damage. You know the options as well as I do: epilepsy, loss of the ability to reason, damage to memory or even, as my co-surgeon so cheerfully predicted, total insanity. And that’s without the lesser disorders of single or double incontinence, loss of speech, limb co-ordination …’
‘I get the picture.’
‘I’m sorry, Beth. I’m as fond of Diana as you are.’
‘But you do think she’ll live?’
‘If she doesn’t get pneumonia or have a fit between now and tomorrow morning she stands a chance, but whether or not she’ll be grateful that she’s survived is another thing. How’s Ronnie?’
‘Heavily sedated. The only way we could calm him was for me to give him an injection.’
‘I wouldn’t have left you with him if I’d known he was that bad.’
‘There wasn’t time for you to think of Ronnie, only Diana.’
‘I’d like to know exactly what happened in the house before we got there tonight.’
‘I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.’ She poured out two cups of tea, added milk and handed him one.
‘And what do you think it looks like?’ he asked, mystified by her train of thought.
‘I heard two porters talking when we brought Ronnie in. They were already gossiping about a domestic in Graig Street. “Returning soldier catches wife in bed with other man then tries to kill her.” You know how people love to make up stories.’
‘Unfortunately.’
‘But I refuse to believe it of Diana – or Ronnie.’
‘The thought of Diana having an affair never crossed my mind. But then, you and I know Diana and Ronnie. Try not to think about it, or let the gossip upset you until we find out the facts. I’ve told the recovery room sister to call me if there’s any change in Diana’s condition, and no doubt the ward sister will inform me when Ronnie wakes.’ Lifting his legs down he pushed his empty cup back on to the tray and reached for his cigarettes. ‘So, why don’t you go home, Bethan? The children –’
‘Will be fine with Nessie. Tomorrow’s Sunday so she doesn’t even have to get them ready for school.’
‘You’re determined to stay.’
‘You know Diana’s the closest I have to a sister now, and I still think of Ronnie as my brother-in-law even though Maud is dead.
He’s never forgotten it or that he’s Rachel and Eddie’s uncle. I can’t leave either of them when they might need me.’
‘Then we’re both in for a long night. What do you suggest? A game of snap to take our minds off things we can’t do anything about?’
‘Anything you want,’ she replied carelessly. ‘You haven’t said a word about Charlie or why Huw sent for you earlier before talking to him.’
‘I think it’s something Alma should tell you – if she wants to.’
‘Is it bad news?’
‘It could be,’ he replied irritatingly, but she refused to take his bait.
‘I know Alma’s desperately worried about Charlie.’
‘I’m worried about Charlie. I’m thinking of sending him to a specialist.’
‘You said he was making a good recovery.’
‘He was for the first couple of months after he came home.’ Flicking his lighter Andrew lit a cigarette and pulled on it, wondering why it was so much easier to talk to his wife about other people’s problems than their own. ‘He’s slipped back.’
‘Could it be his stomach? He doesn’t seem to be putting on weight.’
‘Only because he’s not eating enough.’
‘He admitted that?’
‘Alma told me the last time I talked to her. Do me a favour, Beth. Call in on her tomorrow when the children are in Sunday School.’
‘I don’t need you to tell me to call in on Alma.’
‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded …’
‘But as I have nothing else to do …’
‘You said you didn’t mind giving up work.’
‘I agreed to move over and make room for a demobbed single nurse to take my post as district nurse. That’s not quite the same thing.’
‘So, you resent staying home and looking after Eddie, Rachel and me?’
‘Don’t put words into my mouth, Andrew.’
‘But you don’t want to stay at home? I don’t even know why I’m asking, the fact that you’re here now, says it all.’
‘Put it this way, I’ve never been much of a housewife, and with a live-in maid and both the children in school I have some free time that could be put to better use.’
Pontypridd 07 - Spoils of War Page 7