Dead Man's Embers (30 page)

Non shudders at the thought of the rats. She holds Davey tighter.

‘He should have been there, Non. So, where was he?'

‘Does it matter, now? Poor Ben, perhaps he was killed early on in the attack. The letter Elsie got just said he'd died.' What did it mean, what help was it, a letter like that? Didn't they all die, the ones who didn't come back? Poor Ben Bach. She remembers, now, thinking that Ben had been killed earlier. She had tried to work it out from the date of the letter to Elsie. It was hopeless to try to make sense of any of it.

‘He'd have been at the clearing hospital if that's right, Non, where we all ended up that night, the living and the dead,' Davey says. ‘But he wasn't there, I'm sure of it. I'm fearful, Non, of what I may remember. I'm fearful of what Teddy knows.'

Non tries to clutch at the contentment that had stolen over her, but it slips out of her grasp. ‘I wish Teddy would just go away,' she says.

‘I wish it was as easy as that.' Davey kisses her hair. The clock begins to mark the hour. ‘Look at the time. It's past our bedtime, you know. We'll never get up in the morning!'

They are halfway up the stairs, hand in hand, when someone plays a wild rat-a-tat with the knocker on the front door. They cast startled looks at one another, and Davey takes the lamp from Non and runs back down to see who it is making so much noise at their door at this time of night.

‘Gwydion,' Non says as Davey opens the door. ‘What is it? What's happened?'

Gwydion is speechless. He pushes past them into the house and paces the kitchen floor, back and forth, around and around, while Non and Davey look on, not sure what to do.

‘Tea,' Davey says. ‘I'll put the kettle on that little stove. Get
the cups and things, Non. A strong cup of tea is what's needed. And some food.'

Non has never seen Gwydion in this kind of state. It will take more than strong tea to resolve whatever has caused this agitation. But she takes the bread from its bin and butters thick slices of it. Davey makes the tea. He takes Gwydion by the shoulders and propels him to one of the chairs by the table.

‘Sit,' he says. ‘Here – food, tea. Just calm down, Gwydion, and tell us what the matter is.'

Gwydion crams the bread into his mouth as if he is starving and gulps down the tea that must be far too hot still. Then he leans his elbows on the table and cups his face in his hands. ‘How old am I?' he says. He looks up at them. ‘I'm so furious with Mother. I explained to her what I wanted to do, what I planned to do, and why, and to Father. She wouldn't listen once she realised what I was planning. She said I was silly, Aoife was silly and worse, her father was incompetent and a troublemaker – hah – and then when I got up this morning, ready to talk to her again, try to persuade her I know what I'm doing, I found she'd gone through my pockets when I was asleep – can you believe it? – and taken Aoife's letter and read it and torn it to pieces. That was it, Non. I told her she'd never see me again, and left.'

‘Oh, Gwydion.' Non strokes his hair. She does not know what to say to him. She wonders where he has been all day. Riding about on that motorbike, I expect, she thinks, no wonder he is so hungry.

‘I feel bad about Father, I really do, she's such a tartar, she wouldn't let him say anything. And to think how we laughed that day on the beach – d'you remember, Non? – how we laughed at Taid giving her that name when she was so different to Branwen in the story. But it's not funny at all.'

‘What did you tell Branwen you were planning, Gwydion?' Davey says. ‘What are you thinking of doing?'

Gwydion looks at Non as if she has asked him the question. He holds his hand out to her and she takes it and sits down in the chair beside him at the table. ‘I'm going to Ireland,' he says. ‘Next week, if not sooner.'

Non has been expecting news of this kind, but Branwen had not. She has some sympathy for her sister. ‘I'm sure Branwen will come round, Gwydion,' she says. ‘I expect it was a bit of a shock for her.'

‘I don't care whether she comes round or not,' Gwydion says. ‘I will never see her again, Non. Never.'

Davey raises his eyebrows at Non – what are they going to do? ‘How will you manage?' he asks Gwydion.

‘Aoife's father's found a post for me at Trinity,' Gwydion says. ‘In Dublin, Davey. Doing research. That's what the letter was about. Mostly.' He turns to Non. ‘It was a private letter, Non. She had no right . . . no right to . . .' Words fail him. He buries his face in his hands again.

Non lays her hand on his head, stroking, wishing she knew how to repair the damage that has been done. ‘What about you and Aoife?'

‘We'll marry,' Gwydion says. ‘And live with her parents. They've got a huge house. Plenty of room.'

‘You get on well enough with Aoife's parents, do you?' Davey says.

‘Same ideas, same ideals, Davey. All the changes that are happening over there, I want to be part of it all. It's an exciting time for Ireland. We could learn from them about being in charge of our own fate, we're too slow about it.'

Davey lets that go, Non is glad to see. This conversation is not
about politics. She can see from Gwydion's grey face that he is exhausted. Emotion is so exhausting. ‘Go to bed, Gwydion,' she says. ‘We'll talk in the morning. You know you have our support if you are doing something you really and truly believe is right.'

‘You two are good to me,' Gwydion says. He stands up and hugs Non and shakes hands with Davey. He has gone already, his head and his heart are over the sea in Ireland.

Non knows she will miss him almost as much as she misses Wil. ‘Don't wake Osian,' she says as Gwydion heads for the stairs. He turns back and smiles at her – she is so glad to see that smile – and goes on up the stairs.

She and Davey look at one another.

‘Well,' Davey says.

Non shrugs. What can she say? She knew this day would come. Though not quite in this way.

‘I hope Branwen and Gwydion don't leave it at this,' Davey says. ‘She has to let him go – he's a grown man, Non. Surely she can see that?'

‘Branwen can be stubborn,' Non says. Black and white, that is how everything is for Branwen.

‘That doesn't help, does it?' Davey shakes his head. ‘See, Non, any man will do a better job if he's doing what he wants to do, it stands to reason.'

Non wonders if he is speaking from experience. ‘You're good at your work,' she says.

‘It's what I chose to do, that's why. I like working with the wood, the feel of it, the smell of it, making something with my hands. It must be in the family somewhere. I could never work in an office, Non. That's what Mother wanted for me and Billy – I disappointed her.'

And Billy did not, Non thinks. Billy spent his working life
making things as difficult as he could for people from that office of his in Port, but he did not disappoint his mother.

‘Mind you,' Davey says, ‘I don't think our children will disappoint us, do you?'

Our children! Non has wondered for days now how to broach the subject of children with Davey. No moment has seemed right. The ardent Davey who courted her was adamant that he wanted no more children. And yet, he had brought her Osian. Non has been unable to decide what she wants, her heart and her head have been telling her different things. Maybe it will help her to know what Davey thinks now. She hugs him. ‘How would you feel about having another child, Davey?'

Davey stares at her. He lets out a whoop. He picks her up by the waist and swirls her around until she is giddy and he is breathless before he sets her down again. He says, ‘But, Non? You can't possibly be . . . ?'

‘No. No, of course not,' she says. ‘But it can't be too difficult, can it?'

The rhubarb pie should really have been eaten with a spoon, but she and Meg were too soporific from sitting in the green shade to go indoors to fetch any. If only every day was as calm and pleasant as this one.

‘How long,' Meg says, as she licks her fingers one by one, ‘before Maggie Ellis comes creeping out to listen to what we're talking about? She'd have made a good spy in the War. If she didn't hear what the enemy was saying, she'd have made it up.'

Non smiles at her. Meg has begun on a metamorphosis from a scowling child to an open-faced, pretty young woman. They have the spectacular monthly bad tempers to prove it. Non thinks Meg's holiday work, the responsibility, the money she earns, the new friends she has made, have all helped. Along with the fright she had when Catherine Davies demanded she go back to live with her.

‘It's good of the housekeeper to let you have the afternoon off,' Non says, as she licks a couple of her own fingers free of the sticky rhubarb juice.

Meg swings round from the table and lifts her feet onto the
chair opposite. ‘Saves the hotel my wages,' she says. ‘It's never busy on Saturday afternoons, especially when the weather's like this.'

‘Still,' Non says. ‘You get to rest a bit.' She pours lemonade into their glasses and swats away the wasps that gather greedily around the rims.

‘I thought Gwydion would be here,' Meg says. ‘Where's he gone? He hasn't left for good already, has he?'

‘He wouldn't go without saying goodbye to you, Meg, would he?' Non says. ‘But he has gone up to Holyhead today on the motorcycle to book his boat passage and find out how to ship his books and other things over. He knows someone he can stay with on Angelsey. He'll ride back again tomorrow.'

Meg sips her lemonade. ‘This is a bit sour, Non.'

‘It's nice like this, sharp, it quenches your thirst better,' Non says. ‘And sugar is still a bit costly, you know.' She feels a little smug; she is beginning to care about money.

‘Well, I don't like it,' Meg says. ‘I didn't think he'd go, did you?'

‘Gwydion? Yes, I think I did. He seemed more serious about it all – Aoife and the politics – than I've ever seen him about anything else.'

‘I wonder if she's as pretty as he says.' Meg pushes her glass in Non's direction.

‘I expect he thinks she is,' Non says.

‘What about Wil – d'you think he'll find a sweetheart?'

‘Not on the David Morris, he won't,' Non says. ‘They don't allow women on board, Meg, did you know? We're bad luck.'

Meg seems to think about this, dropping her head back and closing her eyes. Eventually she says, ‘Are you sure? How would a woman get to France, then, or some other country across the sea?'

‘I suppose we're not bad luck on passenger ships,' Non says. ‘Which just shows you what a silly superstition it is.'

Meg opens her eyes and laughs at Non. ‘You get so cross,' she says. ‘You should have been one of those suffragettes you were always reading about in the paper.'

‘I might have been if I hadn't had you and Wil and Osian to look after,' Non says.

‘I wonder if he's written anything in his notebook yet,' Meg says. ‘Wil, I mean.'

‘I expect he was right when he said he wouldn't have much time,' Non says. ‘It's only a six-man crew, and they have to keep the ship moving all the time, night and day. At least, I think they do. I suppose they take turns.'

‘It's exciting to think of going so far away, Non. It is adventurous, isn't it? I hope he writes at least some of his adventures down.' Meg pushes her glass nearer again to Non. ‘D'you want my lemonade? It's much too sour.'

Non finishes her own glassful and draws Meg's glass towards her. It is pleasant to sit here with Meg. They are all always so busy. She waves a wasp away.

‘Listen!' Meg holds up her forefinger. There is a prolonged rustling in the shrubbery at the end of the wall between their garden and Maggie Ellis's. Non expects Herman to emerge at any moment, it is sometimes the way he announces himself, but he does not.

‘Maggie Ellis,' Meg mouths at her. She whispers, ‘Let's invent a story and see how soon it gets back to us.'

‘Meg!' Non speaks quietly. ‘Poor old Maggie would have an unexciting life without her gossip. She spends hours looking after her husband.'

‘What's wrong with him?' Meg says.

‘Well, I don't exactly know,' Non says. ‘We never see him out nowadays, though, do we?'

‘I've never seen him at all. D'you think she makes him up? So we'll all feel sorry for her?'

‘What a thing to say, Meg. She has a hard time of it with him.'

‘Well, I'm never going to get married and be somebody's slave,' Meg says. ‘I'm just going to take lovers.'

Take lovers! Non cannot imagine where that has come from. Is it that new teacher of English, she wonders, letting them read all kinds of novels? Or the French teacher – maybe they were allowed to read racy French novels.
Madame Bovary
, she thinks. ‘What a notion, Meg,' she says. ‘I think you'd have to earn a lot of money and be independent to do that.'

Meg waves her hand about airily, a woman of the world already. ‘I know that, Non. I'm not going to be kept, don't worry. I'm going to work hard at school and go to university, like Gwydion.'

‘To do what?'

‘Learn French,' Meg says.

‘French?'

‘Yes. Did I show you my French penfriend's photograph?'

‘No,' Non says. ‘You didn't.' And Meg knows perfectly well that she did not.

Meg takes her feet from the chair and a box from beneath the table. She lifts the lid and draws out a photograph that is already dog-eared. ‘Don't you think Jean's very handsome, Non?'

The boy in the photograph is older than Meg, maybe as old as Wil. He has dark hair and dark eyes, and his eyelashes are ridiculously long. He is handsome, Non thinks, but she says, ‘You can't really tell from a picture, can you, Meg? It depends what the person is like.'