Moonlight and Ashes

by Rosie Goodwin

  ‘It’s right sorry I am to hear it,’ Blodwyn told him. ‘But what can we do about it?’

  He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. ‘I was hoping you would tell me. You see, until I had Danny come to live with me, I hadn’t had an awful lot of contact with children. Do you think we should tell them, or perhaps try to find out if their mother and sister are all right?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Blodwyn declared, just a little too quickly for his liking. ‘Lizziebright is well settled and I don’t want her upset. Think about it - what could they do, apart from worry, even if we did tell them? No - I think the least said the better on this matter.’

  Eric frowned uncertainly. ‘But what if they hear it from someone else? Won’t that be worse than if they’d heard it from us? The newspapers are full of it, and children do talk, you know. King George is visiting the city tomorrow to offer condolences, then everyone will be talking about it.’

  Pursing her lips, Mrs Evans rose from the seat she had taken opposite him. ‘As I said, Mr Sinclair, I think we would be wise to leave well alone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the doctor will be here to see my husband at any minute.’

  Eric rose and edged towards the door, wishing that he had never bothered to come. She followed him and opened the door without a word. Once he had stepped outside she gave him a curt nod.

  ‘Good day, Mr Sinclair.’

  The door closed in his face as Eric stood there. He glanced up and down the cobbled street, then, with his head bent against the bitingly cold wind, he hurried away.

  For Lizzie and Danny, the day passed uneventfully. After school, Danny said his goodbyes to Lizzie outside Ty-Du and went on his way with Soho Gus and Sparky as Lizzie gazed at the cottage windows. The doctor’s bicycle was propped against the wall, but as this was becoming a regular occurrence she wasn’t overly concerned until she stepped inside. Almost at once she sensed that something was wrong. The fire had burned low in the grate and there was no welcoming smell of dinner cooking for the first time since she had come to stay there.

  After slinging her gas mask and satchel onto the nearest chair, she went to the stairs door and peered up to the dim landing above. She could faintly hear the sound of Mrs Evans and the doctor talking, and she hovered there uncertainly, wondering if she should call up to them. It was then that she heard the doctor say, ‘I’m afraid it’s not looking good, Blodwyn. I could have him transferred to the hospital if you’d rather he be there?’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ was Blodwyn’s reply. ‘This is his home and this is where he will stay. Until they take him out of here in a box, that is.’

  Lizzie knew then that Mr Evans must be very ill indeed, and a frown settled across her small face. He had always been the one to stick up for her when Mrs Evans was fussing over her, and she wondered what it would be like to have to live here alone, if anything should happen to him.

  She didn’t have long to ponder, for at that moment she heard the doctor snap his bag shut and he and Mrs Evans appeared at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Aw, Lizziebright!’ the woman exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know you were home so soon - and me with no dinner on the table for you. What am I thinking of, eh?’

  The doctor gave her a curious look but saying nothing he quickly descended the stairs.

  ‘I shall call back in a couple of hours after I’ve done my surgery,’ he informed her from the doorway. ‘Until then, just try to keep him as comfortable as you can.’ He smiled kindly at Lizzie and then he was gone. Mrs Evans bore down on Lizzie to wrap her in a warm embrace. The girl felt like telling her that she had only seen her at lunchtime, not a year ago, but seeing that the woman was upset she held her tongue.

  ‘Now then, bach, what sort of a day have you had then, eh?’

  Looking very solemn, Lizzie looked her straight in the eye and asked bluntly, ‘What’s wrong with Mr Evans?’

  The woman started as if she had been doused with a bucket of cold water before replying, ‘Come and sit with me, bach. There is something I need to tell you.’

  Lizzie obediently slid onto the settee and Blodwyn sat next to her, fiddling with her handkerchief as she sought for the right words. Eventually she said, ‘Mr Evans is very ill, Lizziebright . . . very ill indeed. In fact, the doctor thinks . . . Well, he thinks that Mr Evans may be leaving us soon.’

  ‘What! You mean he might die?’ Lizzie’s eyes were fearful as she remembered the blood on his handkerchief and the terrible hacking cough.

  The big woman swallowed. ‘Yes, bach, he has the dust disease. You see, before we lived here, we lived up in the hills in a tiny miner’s cottage, and Mr Evans worked down the pit. He never liked it, but his grandfather was a miner as was his grandfather before him, and so it was expected that Daffyd would be the same. The only man of the family who never worked down the pits was Daffyd’s father, who was a blacksmith. Daffyd decided to go down the pit because we got a small cottage to live in that came with the job when we married. He never liked it, so when the opportunity arose to buy the smithy here in Sarn-Bach, he seized the opportunity with both hands and here we’ve been ever since. The pit closed down not long after we left and the cottages are all empty now - but we had some happy years there. Our two boys and Megan were born there, as it happens.’

  Her eyes had become dreamy as Lizzie asked quietly, ‘Where are your sons now?’

  ‘Moved away,’ Mrs Evans sighed. ‘They were good lads, but after we lost Megan they accused me of loving her more than I loved them. As soon as they were old enough, they flew the nest. I don’t know where they are now.’

  ‘And did you?’ Lizzie questioned in the forthright way that only a child could.

  The woman looked shocked, and as if she were fighting some inner battle, but after some seconds she slowly nodded.

  ‘I suppose I did, but I couldn’t help it. Megan was my whole life. I had always wanted a little girl, which is why I was so thrilled when you arrived. You are so like her. When my poor Daffyd is gone, at least we’ll still have each other.’

  Lizzie shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Not for too long we won’t,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t forget - as soon as the war is over, me an’ Danny will be goin’ home to our mam and dad.’

  A strange look flared in the woman’s eyes as she stroked the child’s hair. ‘We’ll see,’ she said softly. ‘But now I had better get you fed. I don’t want it said that I neglect you. Not when you are the most important person in my life.’

  Lizzie found this a very strange thing for her to say when her husband was lying upstairs so ill, but she kept her lips clamped tight shut. She wished that Danny were there or that her mam would just walk in through the door to take her home. Home . . . just the thought of it made the lump in her throat swell again.

  ‘I . . . I have to go to the privy,’ she blurted out, and without waiting for an answer she fled to the back door, yanked it open and escaped into the cold, early evening air. Already a thick frost had made the grass stand to attention, but Lizzie was oblivious to the chill as she sped down the twisting garden path. Once she had slammed the toilet door she dropped her knickers around her ankles and clambered up onto the cold wooden seat. And then at last she let the tears of homesickness and confusion fall. Mrs Evans had never shown her anything but kindness, so why then did her flesh crawl every time the woman so much as touched her, she asked herself?

  And her mam: why had she written to Danny and not to her? It was all beyond her understanding, but in that moment she yearned to have her brother beside her.

  They were almost halfway up the steep hill that led to their temporary homes when Danny stopped dead in his tracks.

  ‘What’s the matter wiv you, then?’ Gus enquired.

  Danny shuddered as if someone had stepped on his grave, and his brows raced together in a frown. ‘I ain’t sure, but sommat tells me that Lizzie ain’t happy.’

  ‘Oh, give over, will yer?’ Gus scoffed. ‘We left her not’alf an ’our since, an’ she were all right
then, weren’t she?’

  ‘She’s not now. I can feel it - I tell yer. It’s always been the same ever since we were little. Lizzie got measles once an’ though I didn’t get ’em I had all the same symptoms, right down to the itchin’. I remember the doctor tellin’ our mam he couldn’t understand it.’

  ‘Now that is right bleedin’ weird,’ Gus said as he scratched at his wild mop of ginger hair. ‘Do yer think we should go back down to the village then?’

  Danny paused. He desperately wanted to, yet he was afraid of upsetting Eric again so soon after their last escapade.

  ‘I hadn’t better,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t want to get on the wrong side of Eric again. I dare say whatever it is will wait till mornin’.’

  Gus nodded in silent agreement as he lifted Albert from his pocket and set him on his shoulder. And so they went on their way, each lost in their own thoughts.

  By the time Danny got home he was frozen to the bone and glad of the welcoming warmth as he walked into the kitchen. Eric was sitting in a chair at the side of the fire reading a newspaper, but he instantly shoved it behind a cushion and rose. Crossing to the kettle he filled it at the sink, setting the old pipes clanking.

  ‘There’s another letter come for you. On the shelf there - look.’

  Danny’s mood instantly improved as he recognised his mother’s handwriting. Settling himself into the chair, he ripped the envelope open as Eric set about preparing his meal. His face lit up when he found two letters inside: one for him and one for Lizzie. That should cheer his sister up when he gave it to her tomorrow at least. His eyes hungrily scanned the neatly written pages, feeling his family close to him as he read of what was going on back at home. Then, when he had finished, he started back at the beginning and read it all over again.

  ‘Everythin’ is fine back at home,’ he told Eric brightly, and the man was glad that he had his back to him so that Danny wouldn’t see the concern on his face. The letter had obviously been written some days ago - but were things still fine back there in Clay Lane now?

  He wrestled with his conscience. Half of him wanted to tell Danny what had happened in Coventry the night before, yet the other half of him was happy to take the coward’s way out and say nothing, as Mrs Evans had advised.

  Turning about, he began, ‘Danny, there’s some . . .’

  When Danny looked up at him with an expectant smile on his face, the words died on Eric’s lips.

  ‘Yes? What were yer about to say?’

  ‘Oh, er . . . it was nothing really. Why don’t you nip out and get some logs in for the fire, eh? The meal should be ready in a jiffy.’

  Danny obligingly hopped off the chair, and when he returned some minutes later, clutching an armful of logs, he sniffed at the air appreciatively as the smell of cabbage and pork chops met him at the door.

  ‘Cor, that smells nice. I’m that hungry I could eat a scabby horse,’ he declared.

  Eric found himself smiling. When he’d first been forced to take Danny in he had resented the child’s presence, but now he found himself enjoying his company. It suddenly occurred to him how quiet it was going to be when the child returned to his mother - if his mother had survived the Blitz, that was. A cold shiver ran up his spine and far more curtly than he had intended to, he told Danny, ‘Get to the table. Your dinner’s ready.’

  Some commotion on the landing and the sound of hushed voices woke Lizzie in the dead of night. She yawned and stretched as she peered towards the door of her pretty little bedroom. She thought that it sounded like the doctor’s voice but couldn’t be sure. Snuggling back down beneath the soft blankets, she struggled to stay awake but soon her eyes grew heavy again and in no time at all she was fast asleep.

  The next morning, she woke and lay for a moment enjoying that special time that comes between waking and being fully awake. Eventually she struggled out of the bed and realised that, for once, Mrs Evans hadn’t hung the clothes she wanted her to wear that day on the door of the wardrobe. A smile broke out on Lizzie’s face as she quickly selected some of the clothes she had brought from home and put them on. It felt nice to be wearing her own things again and not those of dead Megan Evans. She brushed her hair, which was now just beginning to grow again, and cleaned her teeth, then crossing to the window she drew the curtains aside and gasped with delight. Overnight it had started to snow and the village of Sarn-Bach had become a glistening white wonderland. Almost beside herself with excitement, she pounded down the stairs and burst into the kitchen.

  ‘Mrs Evans - it’s been sno . . .’ her voice trailed away as she saw Mrs Evans huddled in the depths of an armchair and Mrs Wigley the vicar’s wife pottering about the room.

  Mrs Wigley smiled at her kindly. ‘Good morning, Lizzie. I’m afraid we have some very sad news for you. During the night, Mr Evans passed away, God rest his soul. So I shall be getting you off to school today as Mrs Evans isn’t feeling quite herself.’

  Lizzie looked across at Blodwyn. Her eyes were puffed from crying and she looked very pale and old. But the biggest surprise for Lizzie was that she didn’t even attempt to acknowledge her. It was as if she wasn’t even there. Unsure of what she should say, she cast a glance at the vicar’s wife, who smiled at her reassuringly before leading her to the table.

  ‘Sit yourself down, bach, and have your breakfast. Then we’ll get you off to school. There’s no point in keeping you out of your routine. No doubt Mrs Evans will be feeling better later on when the shock has worn off a little bit.’

  ‘I don’t want her to go to school! I need her here with me!’

  The vicar’s wife stared at Mrs Evans in astonishment, for these were the first words she had uttered since she had arrived there.

  ‘Now, now, Blodwyn. I understand that you have had a nasty shock, but there’s nothing to be gained from upsetting the child now, is there?’

  Mrs Evans turned red in the face as she rounded on the poor woman in a fury, but Lizzie luckily couldn’t understand a word she said, for she had reverted to talking in her native Welsh.

  Like a spectator at a tennis match, Lizzie’s eyes flew from one to the other as the two women batted angry words back and forth. Then suddenly it was all over when Mrs Evans broke into a torrent of tears and buried her face in her apron.

  Mrs Wigley hovered uncertainly before turning her attention back to Lizzie. There would be time to deal with Blodwyn when she had seen to the child.

  ‘Come along to the table now, cariad,’ she urged as she ladled some thick porridge into a bowl and sprinkled it liberally with brown sugar. ‘You’ll need something warm inside you today. And have you got any Wellington boots? I’m thinking you’ll be needing some. The snow is coming down thick and fast and we don’t want your feet to get wet, now do we?’

  Lizzie shook her head, her eyes never leaving Mrs Evans’s face as she sidled onto a chair by the table. She gulped her breakfast down as quickly as she could then pounded away back up the stairs to rummage for her boots in the bottom of the wardrobe.

  She returned to the kitchen minutes later, wrapped up as if she was going to the North Pole. She had on her warm coat and Wellington boots, and had also put on a hat, scarf and mittens that Grandma Bright had knitted for her, last Christmas.

  The vicar’s wife looked at her approvingly as she ushered her towards the door. ‘Now there’s a sensible girl. Off you go then, and try to have a good day, and don’t worry too much about what is going on here. Things will work out, I’m sure.’

  Lizzie nodded numbly as she stepped out into the winter landscape. Within seconds she was coated in thick white flakes that settled on her clothes and clung to her eyelashes. The milk cart, pulled along by a great brown horse, was labouring down the street towards her, and she waved gaily at Mr Todds, the milkman, momentarily forgetting the sadness that she had just left behind. She had gone no more than a few steps when Danny’s voice pierced the air.

  ‘Here, Lizzie, hold up!’

  Giggling, she waited for him
, along with Soho Gus and Sparky, to catch up with her, and then they began to troop through the snow together.

  ‘I’ve got something really good to tell you,’ Danny informed her breathlessly.

  ‘Really? Well, I’ve got something really sad to tell you - but you go first.’

  Barely able to contain his excitement, Danny did better than that as, delving into the coat of his pocket, he produced the letter their mother had written to her.

  ‘Mam sent this for you, in wi’ mine. She was concerned’cos you hadn’t got any of the others she’d written. But there’s even better news than that! Go on - read it, an’ you’ll see. She’s goin’ to try an’ come to see us soon.’

  Lizzie’s whole face lit up, causing Gus’s young heart to skip a beat. She really did look very pretty when she smiled, and he knew in that moment that Lizzie would always be the only girl he could ever love.

  ‘When? When is she coming?’

  ‘Read the letter an’ you’ll see, won’t yer?’ Danny grinned. ‘Though she ain’t said what day or anythin’. Just that she’ll be comin’ as soon as she can. I dare say she’s got to sort out who to leave Lucy with. It would be too far for her to come, so I dare say she’ll leave her with either Gran or Jo.’

  From the shelter of the post-office doorway, which she’d stepped into to read her letter, Lizzie nodded as her eyes slowly slipped down the page. It said much the same as Danny’s and her heart lifted at the thought of seeing her mother. Folding the precious letter carefully, she tucked it deep into her pocket before once again joining the boys in the snow.

  ‘Right, so what’s your news then?’

  Lizzie solemnly looked back at Danny. ‘It’s Mr Evans. He passed away in the night.’

  ‘Cor blimey!’ Gus exclaimed. ‘Yer mean he like . . . snuffed it?’

  When Lizzie nodded, the three boys shook their heads in disbelief.