A Silver Lining (31 page)

‘Thank you anyway.’ Phyllis retrieved the tray and retreated downstairs.

Bethan felt guilty almost before Phyllis was out of the door. She should have made an effort, accepted Phyllis’s gratitude more graciously. It was just that she felt so tired and drained. Far too exhausted to think about anything, or anyone other than Edmund. Later, when she didn’t feel as though the world was crashing down around her shoulders she’d make a point of apologising for her coldness. But not now. Not when Edmund had to struggle so hard to take even the shallowest breath.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ Eddie demanded as William ushered a bandaged, white-faced Charlie into the back kitchen.

‘Ssh! Keep your voice down,’ Diana ordered abruptly from the depths of the pantry where she was stacking newly washed dishes. ’Bethan’s having a hard time nursing that baby as it is without you waking him every five minutes with your noise. What on earth ...’ She stepped out and put her hand to her mouth when she saw Charlie.

William took the burden of explanation upon himself, and while he talked, Phyllis set about making Edmund’s bottles and putting the kettle back on the stove for tea.

‘Is there anything we can do?’ Diana asked, shocked by the size of the bandage on Charlie’s arm.

‘Make us both a cup of hot sweet tea to take away the shock, and if Uncle Evan’s got something a bit stronger tucked away, so much the better.’

‘There’s a bottle of vodka in my room, Will.’ Charlie rested his head wearily against the back of the easy chair. ‘It’s in the alcove to the right of the fireplace.’

‘I didn’t know you indulged,’ William said, tearing himself away from the warmest spot in front of the stove.

‘I don’t. That’s why I have a full bottle,’ Charlie answered brusquely. His hand was painful despite the anaesthetic. And he wasn’t at all happy with Doctor John’s recommendation that he take at least two weeks off work, and refrain from cutting meat until the skin had completely healed, for the sake of both his customers’ health and his own.

‘Looks like I’ll have to take over the stall and the slaughterhouse for a while,’ William said returning with the bottle. He took a corkscrew and a set of six small glasses on a wooden stand from the dresser shelf.

‘I can work one-handed,’ Charlie growled.

‘There’s no need. Take a rest for once in your life. If you have to do something, you can take the money in the shop when it opens on Saturday. How much of this stuff do you put in a glass?’ He pulled the cork that sealed the bottle.

‘Fill it up to the brim,’ Charlie ordered, noting the size of the glasses.

‘Anyone else?’ William asked. ‘Diana? Phyllis? Eddie?’

‘Joey’s arranged a sparring match for me tomorrow.’

‘I’d prefer tea,’ Phyllis said shyly.

‘And so would I,’ Diana snapped, concerned about Charlie.

‘Would you take the baby’s bottle upstairs, Diana?’ Phyllis asked. ‘I think his feed is about due.’

‘Yes of course.’ Diana stared at the tray Phyllis had brought down. ‘I don’t suppose she’s eaten anything all day?’

A knock at the door interrupted them.

‘If that’s Mrs Richards again, she can go to hell,’ Eddie declared firmly.

‘She never knocks, just walks in,’ Diana pointed out.

‘She knocked this morning,’ Eddie said.

‘Well I’ve had enough for one day,’ William said. He handed Charlie a full glass of vodka and pulled Evan’s chair close to the range for himself. ‘Go and answer it, Di,’ he ordered when a second knock sounded.

‘What did your last slave die of?’ Diana demanded.

‘I’ve been working all day, and I’ve had a hard evening.’

‘What the hell do you think I’ve been doing?’ Diana picked up the baby’s bottle.

Phyllis hoped they didn’t expect her to open it. After the events of the morning it was much as she could do to face this roomful of people, let alone any others.

Eddie left his chair just as the front door opened.

‘It’s me Eddie,’ Trevor called out as Eddie opened the kitchen door. He stood on the coconut mat and shook the rain from his coat.

‘Hello Eddie,’ Andrew said, following Trevor in.

‘Bethan’s upstairs,’ Eddie informed him curtly. ‘She hasn’t left the bedroom all day.’

‘I’ll show Andrew the way,’ Trevor said pleasantly. Eddie watched them climb the stairs, then retreated to the kitchen and slammed the door behind him.

‘Who was it?’ William asked.

‘Bloody cashmere coat,’ Eddie said angrily.

‘That
is
his sick baby and wife upstairs,’ William reminded him.

‘I bloody well wish he’d never married her,’ Eddie declared fervently. ’Bethan’s troubles only started when she met him.’

Bethan was nursing the baby against her shoulder in the darkened bedroom, standing in front of the window. It wasn’t much of a view in daylight, but darkness had softened the harsh aspect, shading broken walls and blanketing the evidence of poverty’s dereliction with compassionate shadows. She looked out over the ty bach roof at her father’s wire mesh dog run, the shed, the old stone wall that ran the width of the garden, dividing it from the lane behind, and beyond that the tops of the neighbours’ chicken coops. High over everything a dark sliver of night sky, devoid of moon and stars, hovered above the crest of the blackened mountain.

Bethan preferred the room in darkness, and not just because of Edmund. She had always felt safer in the dark, cosier, more secure. Her brothers and sister had taken it in turns to fear the night, waking up and screaming at the formless, nameless terrors the darkness spawned. But she never had. Her mother hadn’t allowed night lights, and it had fallen to her as the eldest to creep out of bed, first to Haydn, then later to Haydn and Eddie, to comfort and assure them that there was nothing to fear. It had been easier with Maud. They had shared the same bed.

The night had always brought other pleasures, principal among them being time to dream. Not the jumbled nightmares of sleep, but the peace and mental privacy that allowed her to refashion the events of her days into happier frameworks. Even now she was luxuriating in another world, one in which Edmund was strong, and perfect, her father was free ... and Andrew? What did she wish for Andrew?

A tap at the door shattered the idyllic world she had created, bringing a bewildering sense of loss.

‘Come in.’ She hoped that whoever it was wouldn’t stay long. Now she’d been rudely returned to reality she remembered her priorities, chief of which was cuddling Edmund while he could still feel her presence. She hadn’t needed Trevor’s diagnosis to know that very soon she wouldn’t be able to.

She remained standing with her back to the door as it opened. She resented the light flooding in from the landing, and heard the unmistakable tread of masculine feet.

‘Trevor?’

‘It’s not Trevor. It’s me.’

She turned. Andrew’s broad, tall frame was silhouetted in the doorway, the light behind him throwing his face into shadow.

‘You didn’t have to come.’ Her voice was icy. Andrew didn’t hear the emotional numbness that lay behind it, only the chill note that shut him out.

‘I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. How’s the baby?’ Even now he couldn’t bring himself to call the child by the name she had given it.

‘Have you seen Trevor?’

‘Yes. He drove me here.’

‘Didn’t he tell you?’

The light had fallen on her face and figure, casting dark shadows. From what he could see of her above the shawl, she looked thinner, more gaunt than he remembered.

‘He told me he’s very ill. Bethan, won’t you let me help?’ Andrew pleaded. ‘At least allow me to hire a night nurse so you can get a good night’s sleep.’

If he had offered to sit up with the child himself she might have been kinder; as it was she saw his plea as a continuation of the demands he had made in London.

‘No doubt you, like Trevor, think Edmund would be better off in the Graig Hospital,’ she countered bitterly. ’Both of you have forgotten I’ve worked there. I
know
what it’s like on the children’s ward. He’s my child, Andrew. I’ll look after him.’

‘He’s my child too,’ he reminded her pointedly, hurt by her rejection of his olive branch, and angry with himself for being peevish. Was it so hard for her to take help from him? She had undoubtedly accepted it from her family. Did she intend to shut him out of her life permanently?

‘Can I at least look at him?’ he asked when the silence in the room became too crushing for him to bear.

She unwound the shawl from her waist, removed Edmund and placed him, wrapped in his lighter shawl, in Andrew’s arms. Then she switched on the light. Harsh, glaring, it shone directly down on to the baby’s face.

Andrew lifted the shawl, holding it over the baby’s eyes. ‘He doesn’t like the light,’ he murmured.

‘I thought you’d need it to make a medical examination.’

‘I didn’t want to examine him. Just hold him.’

‘Trevor’s told you that his bronchitis has developed into pneumonia?’

‘Yes.’

She switched off the light, but not before Andrew had time to register the bluish tinge on the baby’s skin as he laboured to draw breath into his infected lungs. Andrew held him close to his chest. He could feel the erratic beat of the tiny heart beneath his hand. This was his child. His son, and this was the first time that he’d held him in his arms, or even looked at him for any length of time.

‘Bethan I’m sorry ...’ the words sounded pitiful, shabby, totally inadequate. He wanted –no needed – to offer her more than sympathy. ‘If you return to London with me, I’ll find a specialist ...’

‘I think Edmund’s seen enough specialists, don’t you?’ She held out her arms and he gently replaced the baby in them. Holding him against her shoulder she wrapped the shawl around them both. The baby cried, a thin weak wail, then recognising the smell and feel of his mother, settled again. Andrew felt desperately tired, mentally and physically. He looked around for a chair; seeing none, he sank down on the corner of the bed.

‘You’re staying with your parents?’

‘I hadn’t really thought about it, I’ve only just come in on the train.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a bed. The house is packed. As you can see, the baby and I are both in here, and if you moved in as well, none of us would get any sleep.’

He wanted to break through the barrier of cold formality, reach out, stroke her cheek, ask her if she’d got any sleep at all the last few nights, but fear of rejection held him back, and his hands remained firmly locked in his pockets.

‘The boys are sharing one bedroom,’ she explained unnecessarily as though she had to justify her refusal to allow him to stay. ‘Diana’s in the other. Charlie’s in the front room downstairs, and Phyllis Harry and her son are in the box room.’

‘Phyllis Harry, do I know her?’

‘Rhiannon Pugh who lived across the road died last week. This morning the bailiffs put her lodger Phyllis Harry and her baby out on the streets, so we’ve had to put them in the box room.’

‘Wasn’t she the woman who was stoned out of chapel?’

‘You remember me telling you that?’

Was it his imagination or was there a glimmer of a smile on her lips? ‘I do. Bethan, are you mad? Think of your reputation. Think of Diana ...’

‘She had nowhere else to go.’

‘She could have gone to the Graig.’

‘To the workhouse?’ Bethan was speaking softly so as not to disturb the baby, but there was a venom in her voice that needed no raised tones. ‘That probably seems an easy option to you, but then you’ve only worked in the place. You’ve never been under the threat of being sent there.’

He allowed the barb to pass without comment. He thought of leaving her now, of going to his parents’ house. Of relaxing with his mother, father and the inevitable after-dinner brandy in their tastefully over furnished sitting room. His mother would no doubt fuss about Bethan living apart from him, and about Evan Powell’s imprisonment, just as Mrs Llewellyn-Jones had done. And if news had travelled to the Common about Bethan taking in Phyllis Harry as well ... The thought of having to listen to more gossip decided him.

‘I’ll sleep downstairs in a chair in the kitchen.’ He didn’t frame it as a question lest she refuse him even that small privilege.

‘You won’t be comfortable.’

Did she really want him to leave that much? ‘I’ll manage,’ he said testily. ‘But until bedtime I’d like to stay here if I may?’ He wished he could have said ‘with you’ so there would be no mistake, but again he choked on the words.

‘There’s nothing you can do.’

‘I’ve brought my bag. It will save you sending for Trevor.’

She knew then that the end was nearer than she had thought.

‘If you don’t mind I’d like to rest for a while now.’ She looked at him as he sat on the bed, and he rose. She didn’t sit down until he was on his feet. He watched her for a moment.

She was holding Edmund very close, her cheek pressed against the baby’s, her hand wrapped around his tiny fingers, as though by holding him she hoped to ward off the inexorable advent of death.

‘I’ll go downstairs then.’ He looked around the room, shadowy in the half-light; saw the cold cup of tea on the dressing table. ‘Would you like me to bring you anything?’

‘No thank you.’

There was nothing left for him to do there. He had only ever been in the house once before, but he had been in a hundred like it when he had practised medicine in Pontypridd before taking up his London post.

Leaving the landing light burning, he walked down to the back kitchen and opened the door. After the chill of the bedroom, the room seemed hot, smoky and crowded.

Charlie and William were slumped in easy chairs either side of the stove. Trevor and Eddie were sitting at the table talking, and Diana was stepping over outstretched legs and moving kitchen chairs in an effort to get near the stove.

Phyllis Harry was nowhere to be seen, and Andrew was grateful. He hoped she’d gone to her room for the night. He could barely cope with the family let alone a stranger.

‘Dr John.’ William was the only one to greet him as he opened the door.

‘Hello, William, it’s good to see you,’ he replied with a forced geniality.