by Sara Gethin
‘Well, the gossip is wrong. I know who his father is,’ Miss says. ‘And he’s certainly not a drug dealer. It was a boy who came to stay with Nannette and Dafydd because his mother was very ill.’ Miss is putting her mug down. She’s tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘He and Rhiannon were fourteen, inseparable. Then his mother was offered treatment in Germany because she had family there, and he went with her.’ Miss is turning around a bit, but she still hasn’t seen me. ‘Rhiannon shut down and wouldn’t speak to us. She really went off the rails. And then we realised she was pregnant…’ She’s turning around a bit more and I’m waiting for her to see me. ‘Luke was a good boy, a kind person. There’s no doubt he’s the father. Tomos is the exact image of him.’ She’s turned all the way around now and I’m waving and waving at her.
She’s seen me at last.
‘Tomos! How long have you been standing there?’ She’s rushing over to the door. She’s smiling. ‘Look at you in your school uniform. Don’t you look well? You’ve grown so much in the last six months.’ Her words are falling all over each other. She looks happy. Her cheeks are pink and her tummy is very big. ‘How do you like your new school?’
‘It’s nice,’ I say.
Mrs Clarke is coming over to the door. ‘He’s settled in really well. You’ve made quite a few friends already, haven’t you?’
I’m nodding. I have a friend called Noah and a friend called Matt, and I sit with Beca and Ioan. They’re very nice. They never tell me to go away and they never say I smell.
‘And I’m sure I don’t need to tell Mrs Davies what an excellent pupil you are,’ Mrs Clarke says. ‘So good at sums. And his reading… Well!’ Mrs Clarke is calling me with her hand. ‘Come into the staffroom, Tomos. You and Mrs Davies can have a proper chat then.’
I am going into the staffroom. I have never been into the staffroom before. I’m standing by the green chairs. Mrs Clarke is going out and she is closing the door behind her. And then it’s just Miss and me. We are all alone in the staffroom. Just us two.
* * *
‘Oh,’ Miss says, ‘it’s so lovely to see you, Tomos.’ Her eyes are a bit watery. ‘Come and sit down.’ She’s tapping one of the green chairs. I’m sitting down and she is sitting down next to me. She’s looking at me and smiling and smiling. She’s not saying anything. I am smiling and smiling back at her. I’m not saying anything too. She’s putting her hand into her bag. ‘I’ve brought you something.’ She’s showing me a little book. It has a blue shiny cover. Miss is opening it. It has plastic pockets inside and the pockets are full of photographs.
‘Nanno!’ I say. ‘And Dat!’
Miss is smiling. ‘Yes.’ She’s turning the pages of the book. ‘And there you are too.’ Miss is pointing to a baby in a photograph. The baby’s on a lady’s lap. The lady is sitting next to Nanno on the bench. In Nanno and Dat’s garden. There are lots of other people in the photograph too. There are girls and there are boys.
‘Is that me?’ I’m pointing to the baby.
‘Yes. That’s you, Tomos. You’re tiny in this photo. Just a few months old.’
I’m looking at the baby. I’m remembering the photographs Nanno and Dat had on the piano. There were lots of baby me.
‘And do you know who that is?’ Miss says. She’s pointing to the lady next to Nanno. The lady with me on her lap.
I’m looking hard at the lady. I say, ‘It’s you with your long hair!’
‘Yes,’ Miss says, ‘when I was seventeen. And all these other people are the children Nanno and Dat looked after.’ She’s moving her finger over all the people in the photograph.
‘There are lots.’
‘Oh yes,’ Miss says. ‘Lots and lots.’
I have remembered something. ‘Is Mammy in the photo too?’
‘She wasn’t there for that party. That’s why you’re sitting on my lap.’ Miss is smiling. ‘Back then Nanno used to call me your “other mother”.’
I’m thinking about Nanno. I’m remembering her cwtching me and singing to me and reading me stories. I am trying to remember Miss. I’m trying to remember her from before school. Not this school, my last school when she was my teacher. ‘I don’t remember you. I don’t remember you when you had long hair.’
‘No, you were very young when I… When I stopped visiting Nanno and Dat. You were still just a baby. You wouldn’t remember me.’ Her eyes are very watery. ‘But I missed you, Tomos,’ she says. She is taking a big breath. ‘And then after I decided to be a teacher…’
‘… instead of having a baby,’ I say.
Miss is looking at me. Her face is very sad. ‘Oh you remember that.’ She’s shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry, Tomos. I was so upset in the car that night.’ She’s taking a tissue from her pocket and she’s blowing her nose on it. She’s putting it back in her pocket. ‘When I decided not to have a baby and to be a teacher instead, it was hard for me to see you.’ She’s wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Because you had a lot of homework.’
‘Yes.’ Miss is getting the tissue from her pocket again.
‘And because your mammy didn’t like Nanno and Dat.’
‘Yes, because of that, too.’
‘Mrs Clarke gives us a lot of homework,’ I say. ‘Lots of spellings. I like spellings.’
‘Good,’ Miss says. It’s hard to hear her because of the tissue.
I’m looking at the photograph again. The one of me and Miss and Nanno and the other people. ‘I remember it all,’ I say.
‘All what, Tomos?’
‘All the things you told me in the car. On the way to the best place for me. I remember about being a teacher instead of having a baby. And I remember about your mammy calling Nanno and Dat names. And that your mammy went away. And about Nanno’s cheese omelettes. And I remember that they are the best cheese omelettes in the world.’ I am thinking about the omelettes. ‘Not they are,’ I say, ‘they were the best cheese omelettes in the world.’
‘They were.’ Miss is smiling again. ‘They were.’
‘Nanno’s gone to Heaven now,’ I say, ‘hasn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ Miss says, ‘but we can still remember all about her.’
I am touching Nanno’s face in the photograph. I’m touching her silver hair and her pink cheeks and I’m thinking of something. ‘Is Dat in Heaven too?’ I’m saying it fast. I’m saying it with hurt in my tummy. I’m scared because I can’t see him in the photograph.
‘It’s all right, Tomos.’ Miss is squeezing my shoulder. ‘He’s fine.’
‘But where is he?’ I’m rubbing my finger on the photo.
‘You can’t see him because he was holding the camera. He was taking the photograph. And this photo was taken years ago when you were a baby.’
‘Where’s Dat now?’ I’m saying it quietly. I’m afraid that he’s a long, long way away.
‘He’s living near Swansea,’ Miss says. ‘He’s got a new house, well…a little bungalow.’ She’s squeezing my shoulder again. ‘And he’s fine, I promise you, Tomos. Just like he always was.’
‘That’s good.’ I’m trying to think about Dat in a new house. In a little bungalow. I’m trying and trying. I don’t think Swansea is a long way away. And I like the word bungalow.
Miss is turning the pages of the photograph book. ‘Mammy!’ I’m pointing to a photograph. ‘But her hair’s pink.’
Miss is laughing. ‘Do you think it looks pretty?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘I think it looks pretty too.’
‘But I like her yellow hair better.’ I am touching Mammy’s pink hair in the photograph. I’m remembering another thing Miss said in the car on the way to the best place for me. About her mammy going away. ‘Do you think my mammy will come back,’ I say, ‘like your mammy did?’
‘Would it be okay if she did?’
I am thinking. I’m thinking about being with Mammy. I’m thinking about cwtching with her on the settee and watching Murder, She Wrote. And I�
�m thinking about Tess and Rob and the way we sing along to the radio in the car. I’m thinking about Tess’s big smile when I run out of school and the way she hugs me. I’m thinking about Rob’s engine sounds. They are nearly as good as Dat’s. He’s good at changing the points and moving the signals too. Rob says, ‘Move your train out of the station, Mr Engine Driver, please.’ And I say, ‘Okey-dokey, Mr Signal Man.’ I’m thinking about the big shelf in my new bedroom that has seventeen books on it. I’m thinking about Tess reading stories. She sits on the side of my bed. I’m thinking about the way she says, ‘Sleep tight, cariad. Nos da,’ when it’s time to go to sleep and she always leaves my door open. ‘I can listen out for you in the night,’ she says. ‘I can hear you when the door is open. In case you need me.’
Sometimes I do need her. Sometimes, when I remember the man hurting Mammy. Or when I remember Brick and the big cut. Or when I remember the night I made myself tiny tiny tiny in my high sleeper bed. Like little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay. When I call for Tess she runs to me. She cwtches me and cwtches me. And I don’t feel so scared.
I am thinking of Mammy again. And her pretty yellow hair.
‘Maybe,’ I say.
‘Your mammy might come back,’ Miss says. ‘But not until you’re quite a bit older.’
‘That’s good,’ I say. ‘It’ll be nice to see Mammy.’
* * *
We have been sitting on the green chairs for a long time. We’ve been sitting and looking at the photographs. I like seeing Nanno and Dat and Miss and Mammy. I like seeing all the other people Nanno and Dat looked after in their house too. Miss has been telling me their names. There are some girls with long hair and some girls with short hair. Their names are Katy, Carrie, Louise and Llinos. And there are boys with long hair and short hair too. Their names are Siôn, Ryland, Robbie and Karl.
Miss is pointing to another boy. ‘And that’s Luke.’
I’m looking at the photograph. ‘Mammy said she sees Luke when she looks at me. A long time ago. Is that the Luke she sees?’
Miss is nodding. ‘Yes, that’s Luke.’
I am looking and looking at the boy in the photograph. He’s smiley and his face is friendly. ‘He looks nice.’
‘He was nice,’ she says. ‘I bet he still is.’
‘You told Mrs Clarke I’m the exact image of him.’
Miss is biting her lip. ‘You heard that, did you?’
I’m nodding. ‘Where is he now?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Miss says, ‘but Dat might know.’
I’m still looking at Luke in the photograph. ‘I think Mammy sees him when she looks at me because his brown hair is just like my brown hair.’ I’m touching his face with my finger. ‘And his eyes are like my eyes too.’
‘Yes,’ Miss says. ‘I expect that’s what it is.’ She’s getting another tissue out of her pocket.
I’m moving my finger over all the other children in the photograph now. ‘I liked living at Nanno and Dat’s house.’
‘So did I,’ Miss says. We are both smiling. We are smiling lots and lots, and Miss is wiping her eyes on the tissue.
‘But I live with Tess and Rob now,’ I say, ‘and I like that too.’
‘Good,’ Miss says. ‘That’s really good.’
‘And you live with Colin.’
Miss is biting her lip. ‘Well actually, Tomos,’ she says, ‘I’m not living with…’
Someone is opening the door to the staffroom. Someone is opening it with a bang. It’s Mr Jeffries the cleaner. He’s coming into the staffroom with his back first and he’s pulling his vacuum cleaner.
He’s turned around. ‘Oh sorry.’ He’s dropped his hosepipe. ‘I didn’t know anyone was in here.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Miss is trying to get out of the green chair. She’s pushing her big tummy up first. ‘We’re just about ready to leave anyway.’
‘No,’ Mr Jeffries is saying. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ll come back in five minutes.’ He’s picking up his hosepipe again and he’s going out of the door.
Miss is standing up now and so am I. ‘You can keep that book of photographs,’ she says. ‘You can look at the photos of Nanno and Dat and your mum.’
‘And you, Miss,’ I say.
‘Yes, you can look at the photos of me too.’ She’s smiling. ‘But you don’t need to call me Miss anymore, Tomos. You can call me Lowri now.’
‘Lowri,’ I say. It sounds nice.
‘Or Aunty Lowri, if you like.’
I’m thinking. ‘I haven’t got an aunty,’ I say.
‘I know,’ Miss says. She’s putting her hand on my shoulder. She’s biting her lip and her eyes are very twinkly. Her voice is quiet. ‘Would you like me to be your aunty? Your Aunty Lowri?’
I’m thinking again. I’d like Miss to be my aunty. I would really like Miss to be my aunty. She would be a very good Aunty Lowri. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’d like it a lot.’
Miss is smiling and smiling. ‘Thank you. I’ll always look out for you.’ She’s squeezing my shoulder a bit. ‘I love you, Tomos.’
‘Do you?’ I say. I’m surprised. I know Nanno loves me and I know Dat loves me. And I know Tess and Rob love me. But I didn’t know Miss loves me.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I do.’
‘Can I love you too?’ I’m looking at my shoes. One of my laces is nearly undone.
‘I would love it if you did,’ Miss says.
I’m looking up at her. Her eyes are very, very twinkly now. I’m smiling. ‘Good,’ I say. ‘I will.’ Miss is putting her hand on her big tummy. I’m smiling at Miss. Her eyes look all watery. I’m remembering something Miss said in the car. She said that having a baby makes you cry a lot. ‘Will you stop crying when you’ve got your baby?’
Miss is laughing. Lots and lots of tears are running down her cheeks. She’s wiping them away with her hand. Her eyes are red but they are very kind. She’s smiling at me. ‘Maybe, but I’m crying because I’m happy, Tomos. Remember our little chat about that?’
‘I remember,’ I say. ‘When we were in the car. When we were going to the best place for me.’
Miss is smiling. She’s hugging me. ‘Are you happy now, Tomos? Is it okay living with Tess and Rob?’
‘Oh yes,’ I say. ‘I like it a lot.’
‘Good. I’m so glad you’re happy there.’ She’s smiling and smiling at me. ‘Oh.’ She’s putting her hands on her cheeks. ‘I nearly forgot.’ She’s looking in her bag and she’s taking something out. She’s giving it to me. It’s purple and furry.
I’m whispering ‘Cwtchy.’ I’m hugging and hugging and hugging him. ‘Cwtchy, Cwtchy.’
‘Dat and I found him under the stairs,’ Miss says, ‘when we were clearing out the house. He was behind lots of old boxes.’
I’m remembering now. I’m remembering a long, long time ago. ‘We were playing hide and seek,’ I say. ‘And Cwtchy was hiding.’
Miss is bending down. She’s holding my hand. She’s squeezing it tight. Her face is next to my face. ‘Very soon, Tomos, Dat will be able to come and see you.’ Her voice is quiet. ‘At Tess and Rob’s.’
There’s a funny feeling in my nose. It’s making my eyes feel prickly. ‘I can see Dat?’ I’m saying it very quietly. I’m saying it through Cwtchy’s fur.
‘Yes,’ Miss says. ‘Not today, but soon. Would you like that, Tomos?’
I’m looking at Miss. I am looking and looking at her. And then I’m jumping. I am jumping with both feet at the same time. ‘Oh yes, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot, lot, LOT!’ I’m hugging Cwtchy. I’m hugging Miss. Miss Aunty Lowri. I’m squeezing her tight. She’s squeezing me tight. We are hugging and squeezing and laughing and hugging. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘What was that?’ I’m jumping away from her.
‘The baby gave us a kick.’ She’s laughing and putting her hand on her tummy. ‘Your baby cousin is saying hello.’
‘My baby cousin?’
‘Yes. He’ll be your cousin because I’m your Aunty Lowri.’
/> ‘My cousin,’ I say. I like the sound of the word cousin. I am saying and saying it. I’m looking at Miss again. Her tummy is very, very big. ‘You’ve got your baby already.’ I’m pointing to her tummy. ‘In there!’
‘Yes, I suppose I have.’
‘So you don’t need to cry anymore.’
She’s still laughing. ‘Only when I’m happy.’
‘Are you happy now?’
‘Yes, I am,’ she says. She’s laughing and laughing. ‘I’m very happy. How about you, Tomos? Are you happy?’
I say, ‘I’m very happy. I’m very, very happy.’
I’m waving Cwtchy in the air. I am waving him and waving him and I’m thinking about Dat and my baby cousin. And I’m laughing. Miss is laughing – Aunty Lowri is laughing. We are laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing.
Our eyes are crying but our mouths are laughing.
If you have concerns about a child you know, want to learn more about fostering or have been affected by the issues in this book, the following organisations may be of help:
Addaction: for adults and young people and their families: http://www.addaction.org.uk/
Adfam – families, drugs and alcohol: adfam.org.uk
The Fostering Network: Tel. 0141 204 1400; thefosteringnetwork.org.uk
NSPCC Helpline: Tel. 0808 800 5000; [email protected]; https://www.nspcc.org.uk
The Survivors Trust Helpline – supporting survivors of rape & sexual abuse: Tel. 0808 801 0818; thesurvivorstrust.org
Sara Gethin is a pen name of Wendy White. She grew up in Llanelli and studied theology and philosophy at Lampeter. Her working life has revolved around children – she’s been a childminder, an assistant in a children’s library and a primary school teacher. She also writes children’s books as Wendy White, and her first, Welsh Cakes and Custard, won the Tir nan-Og Award in 2014. Her own children are grown up now, and while home is still west Wales, she and her husband spend much of their free time across the water in Ireland. Not Thomas is her first novel for adults.
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