by Jenny Nimmo
It was too bright: the painted door, the coloured curtains; it was like the house of gingerbread that had tempted Hansel and Gretel, and look what had become of them! ‘Something happened in that place, something bad . . .’ Alun’s words kept repeating themselves in her head, but Emlyn had taken her hand and was drawing her up the steps to the door!
The blue door opened and Nia was pitched into Wonderland. Astonished and enchanted, she forgot her fear and murmured, ‘Oh! I didn’t know! I didn’t know!’
From floor to ceiling the walls of the chapel had been covered with bright paintings. Patterns of trees and fields jostled with fantastic flowers, with faces that Nia knew, and some that she did not. Coloured birds swooped through clouds and rainbows and a boy with gold-brown hair tumbled in the corn, swung from green branches and slept beside a stream.
‘I can see you,’ said Nia quietly. ‘You and your life. Who did it?’
‘My dad,’ said Emlyn, not proud, but pleased that she was impressed.
Above her, huge coloured butterflies floated on glittering threads from the vaulted ceiling, and all about the room wonderful wooden beasts gazed out with brilliant painted eyes.
‘And did he make these?’ Nia nodded at the beasts and the butterflies.
‘All of it!’ Emlyn closed the door. The butterflies shivered in the draught and the whole ceiling spun and shone.
Was this why everyone avoided the chapel? Just because it was extraordinary. There were no demons here.
Sunlight, pouring through the long windows, dazzled Nia and she dared not move for fear of stumbling on a treasure. Something large and dark stooped at the far end of the chapel, but she could not make out what kind of creature it was for its outline was blurred against the glare. And then it began to move. It rose and rose until its long shadow almost touched her feet.
A tall man in a black boiler suit was approaching; his hair a lion’s mane, his eyes golden, like Emlyn’s. A large hand clasped Nia’s and a deep voice asked, in Welsh, ‘Beth ydi’ch enw chi?’
‘Her name is Nia,’ Emlyn answered for the speechless girl, ‘and her dog wants a drink!’
‘Dog?’ Mr Llewelyn dropped Nia’s hand and regarded the bewildered Fly peering round Emlyn’s legs. ‘Good God, boy! I told you not to bring dogs in here. He’ll wreck my work!’
‘I’ll take it out, Dad. And it’s a she; her name is Fly.’
‘Fly, is it? Well, remove Fly and give her a drink from the trough.’
‘And can I let her loose in the field, Dad?’
‘Ask the lady,’ boomed Mr Llewelyn. ‘It’s her dog.’
Nia nodded.
‘Let the dog loose, Emlyn boy. And I will entertain your visitor. Here, lady, have a seat!’
Abandoned by the boy and the dog, Nia perched uncertainly on the edge of the cane chair that Emlyn’s father drew out for her.
‘And now, before tea,’ Idris Llewelyn’s dark presence loomed over Nia, ‘may I make a small sketch of you, Nia? So splendid in your beads, and with silver shells all round your waist! And, ah, what a hat!’
Nia had a great desire to break out of the cane chair, but she could not. There was something reassuring about the kindly wooden beasts, the painted landscapes and the bright butterfly ceiling. So she curled herself tighter into the chair, while Mr Llewelyn pulled a stool beneath the north window and took up a large sketch pad.
Cocooned in soft cushions, Nia relaxed and let her eyes explore the chapel. In a corner by the door she noticed a truckle bed covered with a striped blanket; Emlyn’s place, she decided. There were piles of books under the bed and, beside it, small wooden animals, some perfect and some whose heads and legs were still encased in uncarved blocks of wood. There were empty tubes of glue, pieces of string, scraps of paper, a penknife and a magnifying glass, but no Lego, no model cars, not a toy of any sort.
At the other end of the chapel a huge brass bedstead protruded from behind a wicker screen. It was an ancient bed with wonderful knobs and decorations, some scratched and some repainted; its satin cover was patterned with splashes of red and green and gold, the sort of transport you would need for a very special dream. And then Nia noticed something that made her fingers tighten. Her tiny intake of breath caused Mr Llewelyn to glance at her face but he said nothing.
Nia quickly looked away from the thing that had disturbed her, but when the artist looked back at his work, she found herself gazing at the bed again. The hem of the beautiful bedcover was scarred by a long black mark. Some of the coloured threads had been severed at the edge, and hung in uneven sooty strands. It was a small thing but ugly and, somehow, alarming.
She decided to count the piles of rugs that were scattered on the bare floorboards, each one a different size, a different colour.
Mr Llewelyn, a pencil in his mouth, smiled and said, ‘We’ve been wanderers, you see. Our collection was gathered from every part of the world, but now we must stay put while Emlyn goes to school.’
‘And will you go away again, when Emlyn has grown?’ Nia asked.
Mr Llewelyn was silent for a while, dabbing at his sketchbook, and then he muttered, almost to himself, ‘Perhaps . . . one day . . .’
Emlyn came in and placed a kettle on a rusty gas stove in a corner. There was an ancient sink beside the stove, with cupboards above and below it. A teapot appeared, and three blue mugs. Everything you could need in one room, Nia thought. Just as it should be.
‘Can we take the tea outside, Da, to keep Fly company?’ Emlyn asked.
‘Why not?’ said Mr Llewelyn. He closed his sketchbook and put it on a table beside him. ‘I’m not showing you yourself yet, Lady-with-the-Violet-Dress, because it’s not finished. And you must come again, with your hat and your beads.’
‘I could wear Mam’s shoes,’ said Nia eagerly, ‘they’ve got stars on them.’
‘Why not? Why not?’ Mr Llewelyn laughed, very deep and loud, and helped her out of the chair.
They all went outside and sipped their tea at the back of the chapel, where a steep field of wild flowers stretched down and down to the river.
‘Oh!’ cried Nia joyfully. ‘You can see the mountain from here; you could see T Llr too, if it wasn’t for the trees.’
‘Ah, that mountain,’ murmured Mr Llewelyn. ‘You know T Bryn and Emlyn’s cousin then?’
‘Cousin?’ Nia repeated, turning to Emlyn. ‘Whose cousin are you?’
Emlyn did not reply. He picked up a stick and threw it for Fly.
‘Gwyn Griffiths is his cousin,’ said Mr Llewelyn. ‘Their mothers were sisters, but you wouldn’t know it. We’re down here, and they’re on the mountain, and there’s a world between us.’
They all turned to look at the mountain as he spoke, and in that very second an extraordinary thing happened. A huge, shining cloud appeared from nowhere, right above the mountain and although the sun still shone, everything went very, very cold, and an icy gust blew Nia’s hat on to the grass.
No one referred to the cloud, they just watched it, settling slowly on to the mountain. Emlyn went to fetch a tin of biscuits. They ate them all except one which they gave to Fly, who had begun to whine. And Nia became aware that hours, not minutes had passed. The sun was low, there were shoes to find, explanations to make up. She jumped up, rubbing her cold arms and crying, ‘I must go. I’ll get a row!’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Emlyn, grabbing Fly’s collar.
‘Yes, go with her, boy! And don’t forget the hat.’ Mr Llewelyn squashed the big hat down over Nia’s ears and led them round to the front of the chapel.
As the children passed through the pink and gold gate, Mr Llewelyn exclaimed, ‘By heck, it’s cold. What’s happened?’
‘It’s like a spell,’ said Emlyn, laughing. ‘Let’s run before we turn to stone.’
They scampered down the hill, Fly bounding beside them, forgetting where she was going, just happy to be running, and Emlyn shouted, breathless, ‘Would your dad sell Fly to me? If I could get the money?’
‘Don’t know!’ Nia called back. ‘She’s a sheepdog, see, and valuable they say. My dad wants £30 at least. We can’t keep her, that’s sure. Anyway, what about your dad?’
‘I can talk him round. I know I can!’
‘Oooow!’ Nia’s bare toes had met something sharp and painful. She sat on the grass and examined her foot. It was extremely dirty but there was no blood to be seen.
‘You all right?’ Emlyn crouched beside her.
Fly began to bark.
‘No blood,’ said Nia. ‘But I think I’ll walk now and let the spell get me, if it can.’
They sauntered on until they reached the shop where it had all begun. It was closed and the street was empty. Emlyn said, ‘I won’t come any further. They might not like it, your mam and dad!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they’re from the mountain.’
‘So?’
‘I’ll tell you one day.’
‘What were you doing when I looked into the chapel?’
‘Making an animal,’ Emlyn grinned. ‘That’s why I came to the shop, for glue; the tail broke off.’
‘What sort of animal?’
‘It doesn’t matter, just an animal. About the dog. I’ve got some money saved and I think Dad’ll lend me the rest. I’ll let you know at school on Monday. Promise not to let them sell Fly till then!’
‘I promise,’ said Nia, never dreaming that she could break her promise.
‘Thanks!’ Emlyn passed Fly’s lead to her and turned to go.
‘Emlyn?’ Nia had remembered something that had been worrying her. ‘Where’s your mam?’
He stopped and stood quite still with his back to her. Nia thought he wasn’t going to reply and wished she hadn’t asked the question.
But Emlyn turned and, looking past her at the distant clouds, said, ‘Mam? She’s in the moon, isn’t she?’ And then he ran back up the hill, only stopping when Nia couldn’t reach him, even with a word.
She didn’t shout, ‘That can’t be true!’ for with Emlyn, she felt, anything could be true.
She began to walk down the deserted street, peering in doorways, behind trees, post boxes and a telephone kiosk. The star-spangled shoes were nowhere to be seen.
Ivor Griffiths’ Land Rover was parked in the road outside number six, and Nia hoped his presence would occupy her parents’ attention while she slipped unnoticed into the house.
But it was not to be.
‘Nia Lloyd! What on earth? Where’ve you been, I’d like to know?’ Her mother was in the hall, her face white and angry, and her pretty smock covered in dust. ‘If I didn’t know you better I’d have had the police out. Nerys went looking and found my best shoes in the gutter!’
‘But you don’t wear them now,’ Nia said quietly.
Mrs Lloyd stamped her foot. ‘That’s not the point, is it?’
Mr Lloyd emerged from the kitchen mumbling, ‘What’s this? What’s this? Close the door, it’s gone cold!’
He was closely followed by Ivor Griffiths and three boys with jam on their faces, eager to witness a scolding.
Confined in the dark hall, Fly began to growl.
‘Good God, girl! What d’you think you’re doing in that stuff?’ Mr Lloyd seized Fly’s lead. ‘Where’ve you been, all got up like a . . . like a prize cake!’
Iolo and the twins began to giggle, but Nia lifting her head, said, ‘I think I look quite nice, really. Anyway Emlyn Llewelyn’s dad thought I did!’
‘What? You haven’t been up there?’
‘It’s beautiful!’
All at once her parents, and even Ivor Griffiths, began to chatter low and nervously. They were upset, Nia could feel it. They didn’t want to alarm her but their restraint was far more frightening. Her mother gently removed the red hat and the beads, and started to undo the shell-belt, all the while murmuring, ‘You won’t go there again, love, will you? It’s best not to! Promise you won’t!’
Nia nodded. She was shivering and wriggling her nose because she couldn’t understand them, but she was careful not to make a promise. She knew she would go to the chapel again, whatever they said.
‘You do as Mam says!’ Mr Griffiths added his advice in a grave and gravelly voice.
Taking her assent for granted, her father and Mr Griffiths retreated to the kitchen, herding Fly and the boys before them.
Nia stepped out of the violet dress and her mother gathered it up, with the beads and the belt. ‘I’m going to put these away now, my love,’ she said, ‘and I don’t want you to wear them again for a bit.’
‘Even in the house?’ Nia asked, dismayed.
‘No, your dad doesn’t like it!’
‘But, Mam . . .’
‘I’m putting them away,’ Mrs Lloyd said firmly. ‘No more dressing-up for a while,’ and she whisked her bright bundle up the stairs.
‘Where are you taking them, Mam?’ Nia cried frantically, leaping after her mother, two steps at a time. ‘I may need them.’
‘No, you won’t!’ Her mother was already far above her, on the narrow stairs that led to the third floor and her own bedroom. ‘Wash your hands and go and have your tea!’
A door slammed.
Alone on the landing, Nia clenched her fists with frustration and cried, ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’
Alun came out of his room, followed by Gwyn Griffiths. ‘Did you get a row?’ Alun asked with some sympathy.
‘A bit!’ said Nia staring at Gwyn Griffiths. She was surprised to see him so soon after the move from T Llr.
‘I came with Dad!’ Gwyn returned Nia’s stare. ‘To help unpack and that!’
Nia did not believe him. Upset as she was, she noticed a conspiratorial air about the boys. Gwyn had come to see Alun about something; and it must be very important, and secret.
‘Gwyn brought a cake from his mam,’ Alun said. ‘It’s great! Go and have some!’
Nia was not put off the scent. Something unusual had happened; Gwyn looked so tense. ‘Come with me!’ she said.
Alun was about to refuse, but Gwyn nudged him and said, ‘We’ve had our tea, but we’ll eat some more,’ and he led the way downstairs.
Nerys and Catrin were doing the washing-up when they went into the kitchen. The crockery had been unpacked but not put away and waited in precarious piles around the room.
‘You don’t deserve cake, Nia Lloyd’ said Nerys. ‘A lot of bother you’ve caused today. It isn’t as if we didn’t have enough to do, without going looking for you.’
‘Nia-can’t-do-nothing! Nia-in-the . . .’ the twins began.
‘Now then! Now then!’ Mr Lloyd intervened. ‘It’s all over. Come for some more is it, boys? Sit down, then. By golly, your wife bakes a grand cake, Ivor!’
‘She does indeed!’ Mr Griffiths agreed. He wasn’t a man given to long speeches but on the subject of his wife’s talent he was always more than generous. ‘She’s a grand cook, Glenys is; she can bake anything, never fails; wins prizes at Pendewi show every year.’
‘Every year,’ Mr Lloyd repeated, on cue.
‘And so would our mam if she wasn’t washing all day,’ said loyal Catrin, placing a large slice of sponge cake on Nia’s plate. ‘Aren’t you cold, just in a T-shirt, Nia? Your arms are blue.’
Nia shook her head, her mouth full of cake. She was cold but cake was more important than cardigans.
‘What’s happened to the weather?’ grumbled Mr Lloyd. ‘There’ll be a frost tonight I shouldn’t wonder, and it was so hot today.’
If Nia hadn’t been looking to see if Alun’s slice of cake was larger than her own, she wouldn’t have noticed his expression; as it was she was just in time to see him lift his eyebrows, very slightly, and glance at Gwyn and she suddenly remembered the terrible cold, nearly two years ago, just after Gwyn had come flying down the lane past T Llr, shouting that he was a magician. No one believed him, of course and, for a while even Alun wouldn’t speak to him. And then everything went wrong. A great storm had blown up from nowher
e. Sheep had died and Alun had got lost on the mountain – it had disappeared in a cloud of snow; no one could get through. It was a phenomenon they said, but they didn’t talk about it much. Alun had been found and after that he believed Gwyn. But Nia had always believed, right from the beginning, and when she looked at Gwyn she could feel the excitement in him, half-afraid, half-yearning, and she knew something would happen again, quite soon.
‘I saw your cousin today, Gwyn!’ she said brightly.
Gwyn frowned at his plate. ‘Which cousin?’
‘Emlyn Llewelyn,’ Nia said.
Gwyn looked at his father, who was staring at him. ‘Who says he’s my cousin?’
‘Mr Llewelyn.’
‘What’s so special about seeing Emlyn, he lives here, doesn’t he?’ Alun said accusingly. Nia got the impression that he was trying to defend Gwyn.
‘I just thought . . .’
Before she could finish her sentence Mrs Lloyd sang out from the hall, ‘Bath, Iolo! Come on!’ and bustled in, carrying a bundle of clean clothes.
‘Why me first?’ Iolo complained, just as he always did.
‘You’re the youngest! You’re the youngest!’ the twins chanted, just as they always did.
‘Just imagine,’ said Catrin. ‘You’ll be first in the new bath, Iolo!’
That did it.
‘Can we get in too?’ Changing their tune, the twins rushed out after Iolo and their mother, and the room immediately became a little larger.
‘We’d better get going, Gwyn.’ Mr Griffiths stood up and tapped his son on the shoulder. ‘We haven’t fed the animals.’
‘I’ll get the dog!’ said Mr Lloyd.
Nia thought nothing of her father’s words until she heard Fly barking, and then she jumped up crying, ‘Dog? You’re not taking our dog?’
‘She’s a good dog,’ said Mr Griffiths, ‘and not happy here. She’ll be better at our place.’
‘No! No!’ Nia ran into the hall. ‘You never said, Dad. You never told me.’
‘What’s got into you, girl?’ her father retorted impatiently. Fly was sitting by the door, ready to go, all neat and alert, like someone going to a new school. ‘Mr Griffiths agreed to take the dog if I couldn’t find another buyer,’ Mr Lloyd went on. ‘She can’t stay here, can she? No sheep, no field; she’s as miserable as sin!’