Second Chance (9 page)

There's nothing like death to bring you face to face with life. My life wasn't fulfilled.

Grace phoned at nine o'clock. ‘I'm putting the children in the car and coming over to fetch you,' she said. ‘There's no point in you being over there on your own with nothing to do but be miserable.'

‘That's kind of you, Grace. But I think I need to be here at the moment. You know how people like to drop in. I don't want to be discourteous to anyone.'

‘Iestyn got Rhydian's letter this morning and he's just been on the phone. He doesn't think he'll be able to get a day off for the funeral, but he said to give you his love. I bet it's that stuck-up wife of his who's against it. That Madeleine. She's probably got some cocktail party to go to on Friday. Well, we'll be over again tonight. Yes, of course we will. What's family for? My mother will be here to baby-sit and I'm bringing over a steak and kidney pie so don't you bother to cook.'

‘What about this George Williams?' I asked Lorna Davies when she called with the post – a catalogue from J.D. Williams and a phone bill.

‘Did your mother tell you about George?'

‘No, but your mother-in-law mentioned him.'

‘Well, there you are, my mother-in-law enjoys spreading a bit of gossip. But I suppose he was courting your mother in his own way. You know, cutting her hedge at the back, bringing her beans and cabbage from his place, doing her shopping sometimes. I used to tease her about him, ask her when they were going to get married and so on, but she was never willing to talk about him. He's a nice enough man, mind, very respectable, used to work in Caffrey's the ironmonger in town. He'll be at the funeral on Friday for sure. I'll tell him to come over and have a word with you.'

‘Arthur managed to escape last night and I haven't seen him this morning though I've called and called.'

‘He'll be back when he's hungry. He knows now that there's someone here.'

‘Won't you come in and have a cup of tea?'

‘If you're sure you've got the time.'

‘Of course I have. I've been waiting for you. The kettle's boiling.'

‘You seem better than yesterday, anyway. You're beginning to come to terms with it, I think.'

‘People are being very kind.'

‘You saw the new minister, I hear. What did you think of him? Some people think he's a bit strange and abrupt.'

‘I liked him. He hasn't got the outward show, but I think he's all the better for that. He put me very firmly in my place.'

‘I like him, too, but it's a pity he doesn't look a bit more respectable.'

‘He can't help his red hair.'

‘No. Well, I'll tell people you liked him.'

‘Is that important?'

‘Oh yes. You're very important round here. On the television and so on... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.'

‘I know you didn't. It's just that I'm feeling very vulnerable at the moment. And rather worthless.'

She decided to ignore my bid for sympathy. ‘Your cousin came over from Gorsgoch, I hear.'

‘Yes. Do you know him?'

‘No. Only his wife is sister to Edwina Williams, Buarth, and of course, she'd heard all about you. Yes, very natural Grace thought you were. No side. Well, I must be off. My mother-in-law asked me to tell you she's got everything organised and you're not to worry about a thing.'

I'm pleased Rhydian and Grace are coming again tonight. It's strange how close I feel to Rhydian; someone I'd half-feared, half-worshipped all my childhood revealed as mere mortal. But an interesting one with a bit of Auntie Jane in his looks and his character. And with a lazy, summer voice.

In spite of assuring me that she'd got everything under control, Maggie Davies called again at midday today. With a problem. Did I want her to use the vestry china, plain white, with several of the larger plates chipped and cracked, or should she ask for the Women's Institute china, pale green and in much better condition. Only they charged five pounds.

‘I think the green,' I said firmly. ‘Let me give you the five pounds now, while I think of it.'

‘No, that will be a separate bill from the Institute. You think green is in order? For a funeral, I mean?'

‘Absolutely.'

‘What about the floral arrangements for the chapel? With the funeral being on a Friday, the floral arrangements would normally be left in place for Sunday worship.'

‘That seems a sensible idea.'

‘So who exactly is going to see to the floral arrangements? I'm sorry to say that I have too much in hand at the moment.'

‘I appreciate that. I intend to see to the floral arrangements myself.'

‘For the chapel and the vestry?'

‘That's right.'

‘Since I'm in charge of setting the tables in the vestry, can I suggest five all-white floral arrangements with trailing greenery.'

‘Exactly what I had in mind. For the vestry and the chapel.'

Maggie Davies probably wouldn't have got so annoyed with me if I hadn't been using my Edith Evans voice.

‘I hope you realise that all the florists in town are closed on Wednesday afternoon,' she said, ‘and that they will want more than twenty-four hours' notice for half a dozen floral arrangements.'

‘Ah, but I've already ordered them from London.'

She didn't believe me, I could tell that by the way her eyes narrowed. All the same, she seemed to be readjusting her opinion of me.

When she'd left I phoned Paul yet again, leaving yet another message on the answerphone. ‘My mother's dead but you don't seem to care. When you finally get home will you please get in touch with me about floral arrangements.' I slammed down the receiver realising that I was still speaking in my ‘grande dame' voice.
Good
.

‘I'm Edwina Williams, Grace's sister. Just calling by to express my condolences...' Her voice changed abruptly. ‘What I mean is, I'm ever so sorry to hear about your poor mother's death. I didn't know her, myself, but everybody seemed to have a good word for her.'

‘Thank you, Edwina. Nice of you to call. Grace is being very kind as well. You look alike, I could tell you were sisters… But of course, you're a younger version.'

‘And bigger of course. Grace and I would have seen to the funeral for you, no problem, only we heard Maggie Davies had taken it over.'

‘That's right – Lorna suggested her. Anyway, I wouldn't want to impose on family.'

‘Maggie Davies was telling a neighbour of mine this morning that you were getting the flowers all the way from London. Now, there's no need for that. She was only wanting you to beg her to use her influence with one of the florists in town. I'm glad you didn't. Power goes straight to Maggie's head. I'll get the flowers for you, no problem. John Parry who owns The Flower Basket in town was a boyfriend of mine years ago and there's still a bit of interest left there, if you want to know the truth. He'll
want
to work on his afternoon off when I tell him it's for family. I'll go straightaway now before he leaves the shop. No trouble at all. One large arrangement for the chapel and five small for the vestry, Maggie was saying. White with greenery. Was that her decision or yours? And what sort of flowers?'

‘I'll leave all the decisions to your friend.'

‘You won't regret it.'

Edwina hurried back to her car, chest first, waving and smiling at me as though we were the greatest friends.

I couldn't think of anyone who'd want to give up an afternoon's holiday to do me a favour. But there, Edwina is prettier and younger than I am; very rounded and dimpled and cuddlesome.

I wondered whether the interest she'd mentioned was on her side as well as his. She was wearing a wedding ring, so perhaps only a few tender smiles would pass between them and an accidental grazing of hands as she helped him choose the flowers. I could smell the sweetness of lilies and freesias and hot-house roses in the closed shop, a heavy, almost decadent smell; forbidden love, so different from the fresh, true smell of garden flowers.

Forbidden love, true love, and how should I my true love know from some other one?

My first love affair was when I was nineteen. I think the boy in question was only twenty, but he seemed very worldly-wise and sophisticated. When he suggested we go away for a weekend together I didn't think of refusing though I was nervous about it. He was considered very handsome. I can't remember his face, but I remember that he was considered very handsome.

He was English, his family from the Wirral, but they often spent their holidays in a North Wales beauty spot, Betws-y-Coed, and that's where he decided we should go.

He was amazed to discover that I'd never visited the famous waterfall, though my home was only about seventy miles away. (I didn't tell him, but I hadn't been to our nearest town, six miles away, until I was eleven.) We travelled on the TransCambria from Cardiff where we were at University, my bus fare and my share of the three days and nights away making a huge hole in that term's grant. However, Handsome Boy assured me that it would be well worth it – and he didn't mean the waterfall; he was at the age when he wanted sex every half hour. And that's how we spent the first morning, missing breakfast, which I considered extremely foolish and wasteful. In the afternoon I insisted on leaving the hotel to see the famous Swallow Falls, but when I discovered how much it cost to view, I was persuaded against it. Handsome Lad knew how to get in from further up the hill: he and his brothers had done it several times. We'd wait until closing time, then see it by moonlight. For nothing.

And I must say, it seemed the right and proper thing to do. Why, after all, should I pay to see a natural phenomenon in my own country?

It was about ten o'clock before the moon rose and we went for the long walk up the hill, managing to crawl in under a fence and walk back through the larch woods to the waterfall which we could already hear crashing onto the rocks.

It was worth the effort, worth the train fare, the cost of the hotel and the tedium of too much sex. It was my first waterfall; it was splendid as the Taj Mahal.

Naturally, I simply had to stand on the platform in the dazzling, moonlit spray, and as I'd borrowed my room-mate's new wool-and-cashmere dress for the weekend, promising to take the greatest care of it, I conscientiously and carefully took it off, hung it over a branch and pranced about in my bra and pants and when they got wet, pranced about without them. Being English, Handsome Lad was not entirely happy about a display of nudity and high spirits unconnected with alcohol and rugby; he waited patiently for me to finish and then offered me his handkerchief to dry myself.

By the next day I was totally bored by him and started eyeing the other guests. There weren't many, it was the beginning of October, the season almost over, but there was one grave, middle-aged man who did interest me. He had mournful eyes, I thought, and a thin, romantic face and he was alone. I imagined a dead wife or a faithless lover and from time to time over lunch and dinner, our eyes met and very briefly we gave each other careful little smiles.

We were leaving the next day after breakfast, and when Handsome One had gone upstairs to fetch our bags, I was able to speak to the stranger, who was also leaving.

‘Have you had a pleasant weekend?' I asked him. And was immediately aware of how tactless my question was, as he was alone, possibly abandoned.

‘I've had a wonderful time,' he said in a low, sad, romantic voice. ‘Would you believe that on Saturday night when I went for a walk up the hill, I looked in at the waterfall and saw a naked girl dancing in the spray.'

I wasn't at all embarrassed. I smiled at him and he smiled back at me. It seemed to last a long time, that sad, reverential smile. And I can still remember his face vividly, and his voice. Though I've completely forgotten Handsome Boy – although he'd assured me I'd never forget him.

That was my first love affair. But whom was I in love with? And how should I my true love know?

Meeting Rhydian again after so long, I find myself thinking about Auntie Jane, a truly wonderful woman, large, strong and vigorous, who found time to support my mother and me as well as battling with cancer, running a farm and looking after her own family.

Mrs Bevan's son, Leslie, used to take us over to visit her on an occasional Saturday afternoon when she'd become too ill to visit us. I can still see her, dwindled to nothing on the bed, her eyes still fighting. ‘You look after your mummy, bach,' were her last words to me. ‘You're the best little girl in the world.'

No wonder Uncle Ted went to pieces after her death, drinking far too much and neglecting the farm. And soon he started staying away on Saturday nights with a young, or youngish woman called Madge, known in the village as ‘a good sort', and within a few months was hardly going home at all. Madge and he got married before a year was up, but she was perfectly happy, thank you, in her neat council house and refused to contemplate taking over a great, rambling farmhouse like Gorsgoch. Rhydian came home from the agricultural institute before getting his diploma and took over the running of the farm, his father coming up from the village now and again to lend a helping hand.