Hearts of Gold (45 page)

Bethan looked at her father. She was grateful for the sentiment, but miserably conscious of her forthcoming dependence on her already overburdened family. ‘I’m not sure. I went to see Matron about staying on for a bit this morning.’

‘I hope she said no,’ Evan countered sternly. ‘You’re soon going to have your work cut out for you, love.’ He laid his hand on her shoulder as he left his chair. ‘So if I were you I’d get all the rest you can, while you can.’

‘She said I could do relief work on the unmarried ward. It’s not strenuous …’

‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘It’ll only be for another two weeks at the most, Dad.’

He glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about it tomorrow night. And you,’ he pointed to Eddie, ‘no staying on down that gym too late. We’ve got work early in the morning,’ he warned.

‘Work! Tatting is only a stop gap, Dad. I’ll make my money boxing’.

‘Not this week you won’t. Table, boy. Don’t forget.’ 

Chapter Twenty-three

‘You’re not worried about money are you, sis?’ Haydn asked as they left the house. ‘You heard, Dad. We’ll all take care of you.’

‘You shouldn’t have to.’

‘After all the months you took care of us? Come on.’

‘I’ve made a right pig’s ear of my life, haven’t I?’

‘There’s some who would say that.’ He looked at her and they both laughed.

‘Hello, Glan,’ Haydn greeted him as he walked around the vicarage corner towards them.

‘Haydn.’ Glan said abruptly.

‘Is it my imagination or did he cut you?’ Haydn demanded, temper flaring his nostrils as he turned his head to look back at Glan.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Bethan hooked her arm into her brother’s and pulled him around the corner.

‘Beth …’

‘It really doesn’t matter,’ she repeated warmly.

‘How much of that has gone on?’

‘Enough for me to find out who my friends are.’

‘I’ll kill the bastard.’

‘Haydn, he’s not worth bothering with. Please, you can’t kill half of Pontypridd.’

‘Half? Beth, I had no idea. Honestly.’

‘And some of the other half aren’t quite sure whether to cut me because I’m pregnant and have no husband. Or because I’m pregnant and was a party to bigamy. Or because I went around with a doctor who dumped me.’

‘It’s that bad?’

‘I lied to Dad earlier. Matron didn’t find me that job on the unmarried ward as an extra. She moved me there last night because the women in the ward complained about having to be nursed by me. And even with Matron’s protection I’m only there now because they’re desperately short-staffed. The minute they find a replacement

I’ll be out.’

‘Is that why you won’t go to the wedding on Saturday?’

‘That’s part of it,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘And the other part is Dr Andrew John?’ He barely managed to speak Andrew’s name.

‘Laura doesn’t think he’s coming. But whether he is or he isn’t I’d really rather go to bed. I need the sleep after a week on nights.’

‘Laura’ll miss you.’

‘She’ll have you and Eddie to make up for it.’

They walked on down Llantrisant Road, towards Griffiths’ shop. Jenny was on the pavement outside, handing a large box to the delivery boy. She turned and waved to them.

‘Jenny!’ The upstairs window of the shop banged open, and her mother stuck her head out of the window. ‘Jenny, I want you. Inside this house now.’

‘In a minute, Mam.’ Refusing to look up at her mother, Jenny smiled at Haydn, mischief glowing in her pale blue eyes. ‘Haydn and Bethan are walking down the hill and I want to have a word with them.’

‘Jenny Griffiths, you get back here this minute,’ her mother shrieked.

‘I will, Mam, after I’ve talked to them,’ she shouted defiantly, walking away from the shop and up the hill to meet them.

‘Hello, Bethan,’ she said quietly, as she slipped her hand into Haydn’s.

‘You’re still going out with this brother of mine then, I see.’ Bethan’s voice came out sharper than she’d intended. It was a struggle to hold in check the emotion Jenny’s friendly greeting elicited.

‘He just can’t seem to stop following me around,’ Jenny answered with a possessive glance at Haydn.

Bethan saw that the Jenny standing next to Haydn had come a long way from the shy girl who’d sat on the edge of her seat in the New Inn and answered Andrew’s questions in monosyllables.

‘Well I’ve got to get down to the hospital,’ she said briskly, wanting to get away from them and their obvious loving happiness. The sight of it hurt more acutely than she would have believed possible, in her present emotionally battered state.

‘Hang on a minute, I’m coming, Beth.’ Haydn pulled away from Jenny.

‘You’ve still got a few moments, and I really do have to go,’ Bethan insisted. ‘See you in the morning,’ she called over her shoulder.

‘She’s a big girl, Haydn,’ Jenny prompted, holding him back. ‘Let her have a little time to herself.’

‘I don’t like her walking down the hill alone.’

‘She has to, sooner or later. You can’t protect her forever.’

‘I can try.’

‘Haydn, she’s not going to want you around for the rest of her life,’ Jenny said in exasperation. ‘Not like me,’ she murmured in a softer voice.

He read the message in her eyes. ‘Will I see you tonight?’ he asked, forgetting Bethan for a moment.

‘I could leave the store-room door open for you after the show,’ she teased.

‘Does that mean you will?’

‘Perhaps, if you promise to be nice to me.’

‘Will it be safe?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Mam’ll be snoring by the time you walk up the hill. And Dad sleeps soundly enough now he’s taken to going to the Morning Star every night to drown his misery at losing Megan.’

‘Then I’ll see you about eleven.’ He squeezed her hand.

‘I’ll hold my breath.’

‘Not too hard I hope,’ he smiled, winking as he left.

Bethan walked down to the hospital along Albert Road, a side street that ran parallel to and behind Llantrisant Road. She knew she was being cowardly but she’d rather not face people until she had to, and Albert Road was never as busy as the main thoroughfare at this time of night.

She felt strange, peculiar, as though something was missing. Then it came to her. She was alone, albeit in the street, for the first time since she’d returned home. She hadn’t realised until that moment just what a protective shell her father and her brothers had woven around her. Haydn escorted her down to the hospital every night, Eddie had been waiting for her at the main gates every morning, with the excuse that he’d come down early to try to get work in the brewery yard and there’d been none going.

She’d been suspicious and in view of the number of people who suddenly seemed unable to see her, or hear her simple greetings, grateful. Too grateful to resent their molly coddling.

She paused for a moment and stared at the rows of terraced houses clinging to the hillside as it swept down to the Barry subway station and the Maritime colliery. The chill of winter was in the air, but precious few chimneys smoked. It seemed madness.

People going cold and hungry for want of coal and the food that wages could buy when the colliery buildings lay blackened, deserted and lifeless like the husk of a plundered coconut, discarded, useless, with nothing more to give. She went on slowly, thinking about the future that waited in store for the Graig, her family and herself.

For the first time she considered the needs of the child that was growing all too rapidly within her. Her father was in his own clumsy way trying to make things easier for her with his frequent and proud references to his coming grandson. But in so doing he was forcing her to do the very thing she least wanted to. Making her see the child as an accomplished fact, a being in its own right who in the space of a few short months would take over and totally disrupt her life.

She hadn’t been so afraid since the night she’d tried to abort it. She felt as though she were losing everything she’d worked for, everything she valued and had striven so hard to gain. Her career. Her prospects of qualifying as a midwife. Andrew … 

Andrew! She pictured him laughing next to her in the Empire Theatre, driving in shirt sleeves through warm, green, sun dappled countryside.

And then, as he’d been that last time in the hospital. Well-dressed in his blue suit, white collar and tie, smelling of cologne and soap, his chin smooth, freshly shaved. Incredibly handsome but for a contemptuous sneer that contorted his full and sensuous lips. She was sure that at that moment he’d hated her. Everything that had passed between them, all the experiences and loving they’d shared had meant nothing to him.

Nothing at all.

He’d seen her as an embarrassment. Something dirty to be washed from his life, his mind and his bed. Yet even now, after everything that had happened, her senses responded alarmingly to the remembrance of their lovemaking. She gripped her fingers together. If she must think of Andrew at all, she had to think of the way he’d looked when he told her that she’d dragged him down as far as he was prepared to go. If she didn’t … if … she didn’t, then what?

She’d told her father and Laura the truth. Andrew and her – it was the old, old story, probably the oldest in the world. She had to thank her lucky stars that her family were prepared to keep her. And, as for Andrew – she looked back and saw cold calculation in everything he’d done. Seduction behind every kindness he’d offered her. Lust, not love, in his caresses.

She walked on as her battered emotions groped their way painfully back to awareness. Only this time it was hatred not love that bore her forward on the crest of life.

It was nearly midnight when Andrew left the illuminated platform of Pontypridd station and walked down the steps to street level. The porter who struggled behind him shouldering his trunk groaned as he finally dumped the box at the foot of the steps.

‘There’s no taxis, sir,’ he crowed, stating the obvious.

‘So I see.’ Andrew looked around the dimly lit, deserted yard and wished he’d telephoned his father from Cardiff. But then he’d been wary of disturbing his mother. She could well be alone if his father’d had to go out on a night call. And no one was expecting him to arrive until tomorrow.

Not for the first time that day he cursed the impulse that had led him to take a half day holiday from the hospital and run off to Paddington station. Impulse – or image of Bethan? Her face came vividly to mind, just as it did at least a dozen times a day.

It haunted him.

‘You want to put your trunk in the stationmaster’s office, sir?’ the porter suggested.

‘Would it be possible to use the telephone?’ he asked, hoping to catch Trevor in his lodgings.

‘I’m not allowed to let the public near the telephone, sir,’ the porter said officiously. ‘Besides, it’s all locked up and I haven’t got the key.’

‘Looks like I’ve no choice but to leave my trunk in the stationmaster’s office,’ Andrew replied resignedly.

‘Righto then, sir. I’ll put it away for you.’

Andrew watched as the man heaved the trunk into the ticket office on the ground floor and locked the door behind him.

Afterwards he pulled the compacted steel trellis across the wide doorway and secured it with a padlock.

‘Safe as houses until five thirty tomorrow, sir.’

‘And then?’ Andrew enquired wryly.

‘It’s got your name on the label, sir, Dr John. They’re not likely to hand it over to anyone else.’

Andrew tipped him sixpence.

‘Thank you, sir. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be off. I’m on early shift again tomorrow.’

‘Thank you for your help. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, sir.’

Andrew picked up his doctor’s bag. Even that was heavy. Too heavy to lug all the way up to the Common, he thought as he took the first step forward. The Tumble, so alive with people during the day, was devoid of life. The lamps flickered over grey, vacant pavements and the shuttered facades of Ronconis’ I and the New Theatre. There was nothing for it but to keep going.

The air was freezing, so he thrust his free hand into his pocket. He paused for a moment outside the station and looked up the Graig hill, wondering if Bethan was working nights. He was sorely tempted to walk up to the Homes. But then what if she wasn’t on the ward? How could he possibly explain his presence there when he hadn’t worked in Pontypridd for weeks?

Turning his back on the Graig hill he faced down town, and forced himself forward.

Eddie had lingered late in the gym built behind the Ruperra Hotel. Much later than usual. Joey Rees had arranged a sparring match for him with Bolshie Drummond. Bolshie had been a first-class boxer, and unlike most of the old-timers in the gym, not that long ago. The match had gone on for hours. They’d all lost track of time. Especially him, and he should have known better, because ever since Joey had trusted him enough to clean up and lock up after everyone left he rarely got home much before twelve.

Tonight it would be nearer one o’clock. And that was bound to set Mam off. He quite enjoyed staying on in the gym by himself. He liked walking around the ring. Imagining himself winning bouts. He liked being able to look at the photographs of past champions without being disturbed but most of all he liked having his gym subs waived and the five shillings a week Joey slipped into his pocket. It was worth handing it over to his mother intact to cut down on her continual nagging about money.

He ran as far as the fountain in the centre of town then, hands on knees, paused to breathe in deeply. He heard someone walking towards him. He looked up expecting to see Megan’s brother Huw or one of the other policemen. Instead … instead … his heart thundered and his mouth went dry.

A man was walking towards him, no ordinary man. Even under the shadowy lights of the street lamps he could see that he was wearing an expensive overcoat. One he knew was made of cashmere. He was carrying a small case in his hand and his hat was pulled low over his forehead.

‘Dr John?’ he ventured.

Andrew stopped. ‘Yes.’ He squinted into the darkness. ‘Do I know you?’

‘Too bloody royal you do.’

The first punch caught Andrew unawares and sent him reeling backwards. He dropped his case and cried out as the back of his head connected painfully with the pavement. Eddie allowed him no time to recover. He jumped on top of Andrew. Hauling him from the pavement Eddie smashed into Andrew’s jaw with his clenched fist.

‘In God’s name,’ Andrew mumbled through loosened teeth, as he desperately attempted to defend himself. It was useless, the attack had been too quick, too sudden. His opponent had all the advantage. A boot connected with his ribs.

‘You bastard. You smarmy bastard. That’s for what you did to my sister.’ Eddie was sobbing and oblivious to the fact. ‘She’s in one hell of a state and you …’ Eddie thrust forward. His toe connected with the soft part of Andrew’s stomach.

‘I love Bethan,’ Andrew protested through a haze of pain. ‘I’ve come back to marry her,’ he mumbled, lost in a red and black fog of anguish. ‘Please, please … I want Bethan …’

A whistle blew. The blows ceased. He heard the sound of feet running away. But all he was capable of doing was lying where he’d fallen on the spittle and dog-fouled pavement, curled in excruciating torment.