He folded up the piece of paper and put it in his locker. Then he looked up at the nativity scene that seemed quite small from his bed. This surprised him, for while he was writing he had the feeling it was so big he was inside it, next to Myddfai, with his hand on the calf’s head, looking into the crib where the baby kicked and gurgled and grinned at him.
That night he found it difficult to go to sleep. In the low light the patch where the cupboard had been was dark and dusty. It made the ward feel makeshift as if it was already being demolished, pipes and curtains and windows already broken down, thistles and grass growing in their place. He imagined the wind blowing over the ground that was strewn with bits and pieces from their lives, nothing left but rubble and dirt, the same wind that blew on the night he came in.
To his surprise, he didn’t care. He was almost glad everything was coming to an end. For the first time since he arrived he wanted to get out and begin again.
A light went on at the girls’ end. It caught the few decorations that were already up and turned his gloomy impression upside down. There was a sense of gaiety down there, laughter he wanted to share.
‘Goodnight, Olwen,’ he called out, ‘goodnight Sara.’
Three days later, by the afternoon, all the decorations had been put up. They reminded Alun of a night long ago – he must have been five or six – when the Christmas decorations in the living room were too beautiful to leave and he wanted to stay up all night. The silver and gold baubles were of every size and shape and hung still as the moon and stars in the night sky. The branches were laden with fairy lights and dark green needles and tinsel that led a sparkling trail into the deepest corners of the tree. Underneath, his presents were piled up, colourfully wrapped and labelled by Dad. He had felt on the edge of something so magical it made him hold his breath.
He smiled to himself. He wasn’t exactly holding his breath now, but you couldn’t deny the ward had changed so much you hardly noticed the beds or the pipes or the curtains or the windows. Every space was filled with old and new decorations, paper chains of every description, mobiles of snowmen and Christmas trees and clowns. And in a corner by the swing doors, a tree that touched the ceiling, so laden you could hardly see the branches at all, only their outspreading shape. At the other end of the ward, the gap where the cupboard had been was now filled with the children’s decorations. Not bad, he thought, swinging his way back to his bed, where his cup of tea was getting cold.
The visitors had begun to arrive and despite his conviction that no one would now come, he couldn’t help looking up every time the doors swung open. When Huw’s Mam arrived in flowing green, covered with so many brooches and bracelets and scarves she looked rather like a Christmas tree herself, he thought she had brought a friend, for behind her family he could just make out a thin lady wearing a smart grey fleece coat and a hood that shielded her face. As she drew apart Alun saw the pram and immediately knew it was Mam. So he had been wrong after all!
She looked round in a rather sharp way as if she felt lost in all the gaudy decorations and excited chatter.
‘Hi, Mam!’ he shouted and couldn’t stop himself smiling. The relief he felt was instant and physical like a stone lifted up from his chest. She turned to him and nodded and smiled a little as if she wouldn’t allow her feelings to be shown. It was the noise and all the people, he told himself. She never did like public demonstrations. Common, she called them.
He struggled to his feet and quickly fixed the crutches under his arms and swung towards her.
‘All right, all right,’ she said. ‘What’s the hurry then?’
Instead of saying something stupid he made his way back to the bed and waited patiently while she took off her coat and hat and manoeuvred the pram.
‘How are you, Mam?’ said his new grownup voice.
‘It’s like a mad house out there,’ she replied, ‘What with carols round the Sebastapol War Memorial and buskers outside Marks and Spencer’s. I tell you there’s no room to move. As for the traffic, they can’t get through and I hear there’s a pile-up further down the M4. It’s not surprising, is it? All that snow turning to sludge and everyone slipping all over the place. There’ll be flooding soon, you wait.’
She dusted the chair seat with her hand and sat down beside him. She cocked her head back and looked at him, with an enigmatic expression on her face.
‘Well, that’s one thing Tony never told me.’
‘What, Mam?’
‘You’ve grown. What ever have you been eating then?’
Alun shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s not bad food in here, Mam.’
‘Better than mine I suppose.’
‘Course it’s not better than yours.’
The hood of the little pram was up and he knew he mustn’t peer over it yet. He knew that if he was to hold the baby he had to be more careful than he had ever been in his life.
‘Do you want the rest of my tea, Mam? I don’t want it.’
‘Doesn’t look up to much to me,’ she said, shaking her head and rocking the pram.
‘Do you want an apple? Huw gave it to me.’
‘Seems like a lot of people give you things,’ said Mam, in a voice he couldn’t quite understand.
‘We’ve done good things here,’ he replied. ‘You will come to the carol service, won’t you, Mam? Day after tomorrow.’
‘Tony’s social,’ she said in a final voice and looking at him straight. ‘And talking of Tony, we might as well come to the point. What’s all this about hating him?’
‘I didn’t mean I hated him,’ said Alun quickly. ‘I wasn’t well, see? I’m really sorry.’
‘Well so am I,’ she said. ‘Poor old Tony. Comes here time after time and tells me all you do is treat him like a nobody.’
‘I am sorry, Mam. Really I am.’ Then he couldn’t help himself: ‘Can I –’
He took hold of his crutches and his mother looked sharp.
‘Where you going then?’
‘I just want to get round to see Catrin.’
Mam looked at him solemnly: ‘What am I to believe?’ she said in a weary voice. ‘You haven’t been like my Alun at all. Not for a long time.’
To his shame his eyes filled with tears. He felt there was nothing he could do to show Mam he was different now. Because he was different, of that he was certain, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He brushed away his tears and wondered what to say. But there was no time for the silence to come down for Ffion was already dancing up to the pram and leaning over the baby.
‘She’s lovely ,’ she said. ‘Look, she’s waking up. Can I hold her, Mrs Roberts?’
‘Just a minute.’
Mam pushed the pram out into the centre of the aisle and wheeled it down towards the Christmas tree. She picked up the baby, came back slowly, and settled herself back in the chair.
Alun and Ffion stared in amazement at the baby’s little face, her turned-up nose, her small mouth.
‘She’s like a dolly, ‘said Ffion.
Alun had no words. He had half wondered if Catrin would always bear the scars of that night, so he would never be able to forget. But her skin was like a petal and although there was a mark on her head it was already half concealed by the dark hair that was beginning to thicken. He couldn’t help it. He held out his hand and stroked her head very gently. He couldn’t believe how soft she felt.
‘We could hold her together,’ he said, looking at Ffion.
By now an admiring circle had gathered round, as if everybody in the ward wanted to celebrate Catrin’s arrival. Then Sister came forward and with great authority took the baby in her arms and congratulated Mam for having ‘such a beautiful child.’
Perhaps because of this Mam started to smile and indicated with a nod that Alun could sit in the chair and hold his sister.
It was a moment he would never forget. He was a little afraid and awkward but his arms were firm and he rocked the baby gently until she smiled up at him. After that he didn�
�t mind what happened and soon, because everybody wanted a turn Catrin was passed from one friendly pair of arms to another until she came back to him. All the while Mam stood by, overwhelmed by everybody’s admiration. She even looks pretty, thought Alun, with her mouth turned up and the sort of glow on her cheeks he had only seen when Tony spoke to her.
But it didn’t last long and when the crowd had gone Mam’s cheeks grew paler and her mouth went straight and then down as it had before. She took the baby and put her back in the pram and pulled up the hood again,
‘To save her eyes from all these bright lights. Poor little thing. She’ll wonder where she is.’
She doesn’t dare be nice to me, thought Alun, in a moment of stark illumination. She’s still afraid. How can I tell her it’s all right; it only went wrong because I was in a muddle? How can I tell her?
He looked round for help but everybody was drifting away as Mam would drift away soon, wearing her hood to keep off the wet from the trees. Then he had an idea.
‘Would you like to see our Nativity figures, Mam? I made Mary and the baby. Myddfai’s there too. Why don’t you come and see?’
She followed him up the aisle and stared for quite a while at the scene. She even bent over the crib to see the baby. There was a funny expression on her face as if she was softening not because of what she saw but because of what she remembered.
‘When can I see Catrin again, Mam?’ he asked. Instantly her eyes grew hard and she looked straight at Alun. She said nothing but somehow or other he read her as clearly as if she had spoken. There was no doubt in his mind. She wasn’t ready to have him back. Not yet.
‘Get this Christmas rush over,’ she said. ‘Then we can settle down to some sort of a routine.’
Whatever happened, he’d keep her to that.
They walked back and she put on her fleece. With some difficulty he leaned over the pram and kissed the baby.
‘See you soon, Catrin,’ he said loudly, so Mam would hear.
Chapter Nine
THE CAROL SERVICE
Mrs Williams strummed the first bars of Once in Royal David’s City.
The beds and wheelchairs had been pushed up together to the left of the Nativity scene and from where he was sitting Alun could just see the picture they had made together. Out in the ward the chairs were filling up. Alun watched Huw’s family settle down. They would enjoy the singing, especially Ffion. He waved to her and pointed to Myddfai. She smiled and nodded vigorously. She was wearing a red dress and little red bows on the end of her fair pigtails. The rest of the family were also dressed brightly. They reminded him of Dad’ s geraniums that stood bright and strong, whatever the weather. He sighed and watched Mrs Wellsman come in and sit by the window. What was she doing at the Christmas service, he wondered.
Mrs Parry stood up in front of the school. She was small and thin as a pin, but she made everyone sit up. ‘Welcome to our Carol Service,’ she said, smiling. ‘We’ll begin by singing together While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night.’
Alun waited for Huw’s clear choirboy voice to take up the tune before he joined in. These days he wasn’t too sure of his own voice. It was as if someone else had taken over.
‘The angel of the Lord came down and glory shone around,’ sang the stranger.
It was hard to concentrate as more visitors pushed in through the door at the back of the ward. Alun couldn’t help looking, just to make sure.
Suddenly his heart jolted. He nearly dropped the carol sheet. Were his eyes playing him up?
Mrs Parry stood up again. ‘For some weeks we have been following a theme of healing, using first the local legend that you all know – the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach, and then the universal story of the Nativity. The work is all round the walls for you to see and now the children will read to you . . .’
At first Alun didn’t dare look out again in case it wasn’t true. He concentrated on his piece of paper then looked sideways to the chest of drawers where he could just see Myddfai with his nose in the crib. It was time for the Sussex Carol and he joined in but at the last verse when his strange deep voice was singing:
‘All out of darkness we have light, which made the angels sing this night,’
he once more scanned the open mouths, the bright colours, the babies waving their arms. Then he looked back at the carol sheet. He had probably made a mistake, he told himself. But you never know. Maybe . . . And when it came to his turn to read he found to his surprise that he could do it better now he thought someone might be out there, listening especially to him . . .
It was like telling the story but not the whole story. After all, he’d made a pact of silence with Huw and with Rhiwallon too for that matter. A part of it must always be a secret. When he had finished he sat down so abruptly one of his crutches crashed to the floor.
That was OK,’ whispered Huw. ‘No secrets given away.’
The next carol was I Orwedd Mewn Preseb’ – ‘Away in a Manger, no crib for a bed,’ and Alun kept his eyes fixed on the carol sheet. Like that, he could go on pretending while he sang. He had often made mistakes, he told himself, especially since his eyes had been bad.
Now it was Olwen’s turn to read, but even she could not keep his attention although her hair was shining brown and loose on her shoulders and her voice was high and clear like Huw’s. Excitement leapt about inside him like those dolphins he used to have on the walls at home. What home? he asked himself but even that thought didn’t still his feelings.
Everyone started to sing again and he couldn’t help lifting his eyes from the carol sheet. At first, in his renewed panic, there was only a blurred sea of faces, smiling, open-mouthed. Then, with a feeling of enormous relief, he saw him – small and lined and his hair touched with grey, but smiling, looking straight at him, until Alun was aware of nothing but Dad singing with him, as if they were alone in the room together:
‘Ding dong merrily on high, the bells of Heaven are ringing.’
Mrs Parry gave the last reading. ‘A special occasion’ she called it, because it was the last time they would celebrate here as a school.
Afterwards Huw nudged Alun. ‘You all right?’
‘My Dad – he’s out there.’
‘Where?’
‘Coming up the aisle.’
‘I told you so,’ said Huw. ‘I knew he’d come. I knew it all along.’
Dad was smaller than he remembered, as if a layer had been peeled off, all round. More fragile and the paper-thin blue eyes somehow tired. But his smile had found its way into his voice.
‘So you’ve been in the wars too.’
Alun nodded. Now the moment had come he could think of nothing to say.
‘Get us a cup of tea, then,’ said Dad, amiably.
One of the nurses was circulating with a big tray. Alun and Dad sat down and she offered them tea and cakes. For a while they ate and drank in silence while Dad picked the crumbs off his creased blue suit.
‘How did you know about the carol service?’ asked Alun.
‘She told me.’ Dad nodded to Mrs Wellsman who was talking to Mrs Williams.
‘You mean –’ As he spoke Mrs Wellsman turned round and smiled at them.
‘I’ve been in hospital too. She made enquiries when she visited. Someone from the church asked her to look me up.’
‘Not here,’ said Alun.
‘Maidenhall. That’s where she found me.’
‘But –’
They used to sing the rhyme at school.
Maidenhall, Maidenhall,
That’s where you go when you ‘ve no brains at all.
He looked anxiously at his father.
‘I was working there. As a gardener,’ said Dad reassuringly. ‘It was somewhere to live while I looked round for another job and another place.’
For a while they sipped their tea in silence while the voices washed round them and they both followed their own thoughts.
‘Tony’s moved in,’ said Alun in a rush. ‘He’s taken
down my posters and painted my bedroom yellow. And there’s Catrin –’
His father’s blue eyes deepened. ‘What about your Mam?’
‘She’s – well –’ How could he describe Mam when he didn’t really know himself.
‘She’ll have to choose,’ said his father, almost to himself.
She’s chosen, thought Alun, and the memory of their last conversation stabbed him.
‘Have you found somewhere?’ he asked his father.
Dad smiled. ‘Don’t be daft, of course I have.’
Alun changed the subject. ‘Come and see the Nativity figures,’ he said. ‘I made Mary and the baby.’
They put their empty tea cups on to a tray and pushed their way back to the top of the ward.
A light shone on the crib, so the baby looked as if he had a halo. His blue eyes were wide open, his hands reaching out as if he was trying to touch Mary.
‘He’s beautiful,’ said Dad. ‘I didn’t know you could do it.’
“That’s Myddfai,’ said Alun, pointing to the little black calf. “The one we found in the cupboard. You know, the one I read about.’
Dad nodded and looked up at the green hills that crumpled up to the ice blue sky and the stars.
‘Does it remind you of anywhere?’ asked Alun.
Dad thought for a while.
‘That place where we used to go in the Black Mountain near the lake. Do you know where I mean?’
Alun nodded. It seemed a long long way ago, as if all the places he had since been to blocked it out. And now here it was, in front of them, like Dad said.
He suddenly felt tired and while Dad was admiring the scene he flopped down in one of the empty chairs. Olwen came up with her aunt and uncle and they talked about going back to school and meeting up. But it was too early for him to think about all that and when they went off for more cakes he found himself staring at Dad’s back. He couldn’t remember the stoop, or the streaks of grey hair, as if Dad had grown old while he had been away. Suddenly, out of the blue, he felt ill at ease, suspicious.
Riding the Storm Page 10