The Owl Service (18 page)

She was inside the box when Gwyn reached it, and she gestured to him to wait with the cases. He lodged them on a stone.

Waterfalls leapt at the skyline, where the day before there had been damp runnels. Gwyn thought of the Black Hiding.

Nancy was having trouble. She pressed button B.

People moved in the road. The shop bell rang. A woman walked behind a heifer. Bent men with sacks across their shoulders against the rain came out of hedge-banks and sheds. No one was in a hurry. Gwyn recognised a wall-eyed sheep dog, but it was not interested in him, though the people were. Before he realised it was happening there was a small crowd round the telephone box.

“Hello, boy.”

“Is that your Mam phoning?”

“That Nancy, is it?”

“What she wanting that old phone for?”

“Where you going?”

“Suitcases, is it?”

“Nasty day.”

“The wireless says flood warnings.”

“You going anywhere, are you?”

“You going far?”

Some of it was in Welsh and some in English. He heard the soft voices murmuring, not speaking to him, but a quiet conversation with him, among themselves.

Nancy pressed button A.

“We're leaving,” said Gwyn. “Now. We're going to Aber. My Mam is phoning for a taxi to take us to the station. We're not coming back. We'll wait here for the taxi, and then we shan't ever come back. The taxi will be here in about half an hour.”

“A taxi?”

“Where from, I wonder?”

“There's profligate.”

“Always headstrong, your Mam.”

“Had her own way, our Nancy.”

“Taxis, now.”

“Well, well.”

The crowd thinned, dispersed, and the heifer went on up the road.

Nancy opened the door. “Taxi's coming,” she said. “You wait there and mind them cases.”

“I'll wait in the shop,” said Gwyn.

“You won't. I'm not having you listen to no more talk. You stay there.”

“It makes no odds.”

“What was they on about just then?” said Nancy.

“You.”

The door sighed, and shut her in. Gwyn practised filling the lace holes of his shoes with the water off his nose until the taxi came.

“Hurry up,” said the driver. “Twenty minutes and we shan't get through for the river.”

Gwyn put the cases in the boot while Nancy came out of the telephone box and scurried to the taxi.

“You coming as well, is it?” said the driver. “That's extra for wet seats.”

“Get on,” said Nancy.

The taxi started down the valley. When they passed the last cottage Nancy sank into the cushions.

The road was narrow, with hedges on either side, and it twisted up and down to find a way between the mountains and the river. The taxi had gone half a mile when the driver braked hard on a bend, throwing Nancy and Gwyn against the door.

“Careful, you fool!”

The taxi stopped. A tree had fallen across the road at the bottom of a hollow, and telephone wires coiled like springs along the ground. Two men stood at the other side of the hedge.

“Hello,” one of them said.

“What the thump's going on here?” said the driver.

“She slipped when we were dropping her. Her roots – all the soil washed out by rain.”

The driver went to Nancy. “What you want to do, Missis?”

“Clear the road,” said Nancy.

“Don't be daft, Missis. Anyway, by the time this lot's right we'll be cut off by the river.”

“Go the other side then, over the pass.”

“Over the pass? That's dangerous in this weather: expensive.”

“You go over that pass,” said Nancy.

“Mind your heads,” said the driver. “I can't see through the back window, and it's too narrow to turn here.”

He reversed the taxi round the corner – and stopped. There was a tree across the road.

The driver climbed out, and shouted, but no one answered, and there was no one in sight.

“Well, Missis, that's it.”

“That's it, Mam.”

Nancy was wild-eyed. She held her handbag as if she thought it would be stolen, and she tugged at the door to open it.

“Where you going, Mam?”

She scrambled over the trunk and began to run back towards the house.

“What about money?” the taxi driver shouted. “This counts as waiting!”

“Bring the cases up the house when you're free,” said Gwyn.

“You don't see these cases till I see some money,” said the driver. “I've had your sort before.”

“That's right,” said Gwyn. “Trust nobody.”

He went after his mother. She had not run far. She was pushing herself on with her loose-kneed trot, and had reached the cottages. The rain was heavier, and the other side of the valley was behind cloud, but all along the road people were standing at their gates and in barn doorways, and Nancy had to pass them.

“Hello, Nancy.”

“You been quick.”

“Forgotten something, have you?”

“Changed your mind?”

“Aberystwyth too far, is it?”

“You go home, Nancy. You go home, pet.”

“Not the weather to be out.”

“Don't leave us, Nancy. Not twice, eh?”

“You go home, love.”

“There's shocking weather.”

“That's it, boy. You stay with your Mam.”

“You look after her.”

“Look after.”

“Good boy.”

“Good.”

Gwyn followed Nancy, and said nothing, and she did not turn her head, but when she reached the front drive gate she hurried past it. Gwyn ran to catch up.

“You've missed the gate.”

“I've not missed no gate.” Her face was bone and thin as a man's.

“Where you going?”

“Where you think?”

“You can't walk the pass in this weather!”

The road went above the house and under the Bryn, and the rain fell so that only hedges and trees could be seen and the fields were white. Gwyn's flesh throbbed with the water's bruising, and his mouth hung open.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Do what you like, boy.”

“Huw says I got to stay!”

“You stay, then.”

“You don't care?” They were level with the back drive gate. “You don't care nothing? For me? For him? For this place? You never cared!”

“There isn't the pound notes in London—”

“I'm staying. Mam! I'm staying!”

Nancy receded from him, leaving him at the gate.

“Mam!”

She turned but did not stop. She walked backwards up the road, shouting, and the rain washed the air clean of her words and dissolved her haunted face, broke the dark line of her into webs that left no stain, and Gwyn watched for a while the unmarked place where she had been, then climbed over the gate.

A
lison sat in the window towelling her hair. She had heard a lot of movement in the house, and Roger had slammed in and out of his bedroom and was now running a bath.

The surface of the fish tank was like pewter under the rain. Nancy appeared on the drive and hurried away, and Gwyn followed more slowly with a case in each hand. He winced at the rain, and then turned his face up to catch the water in his mouth. The cases looked as though they were tugging his arms off. Each wrist came inches below the shirt cuff, and the mackintosh had rucked to the elbow. He followed Nancy along the drive, past the stables, out of sight.

Alison twisted the towel round her head and went downstairs to the first landing. The bath taps roared.

“Roger?”

“What?” He coughed and hawked.

“Is anything the matter?”

“It's disgusting.”

“I think they've gone now,” said Alison. “Nancy and Gwyn. Slipping off a day early when there's no one here. Mummy'll be livid. What shall we do?”

“I'm having a bath. These blasted feathers.”

“Roger, shall I go after them?”

Roger was coughing too hard to answer.

Alison went to the cloakroom for her anorak and then out across the lawn, her hair still in its turban. The rain was like a wall.

They must have gone for a taxi. The phone box? Yes, they'd have to. I'll catch them there.

The road dropped between high banks. At the bottom was the bridge made of poor slate, and Alison saw a man grow out of the rain and stone as she came near. Huw Halfbacon leant on the bridge and watched the flood rise. He wore a sack pinned so that it hung down his back almost to the ground. The point of one corner reached his boots.

Alison hesitated. She pulled the turban out, and draped the towel across her arm, and shook her hair loose in the rain.

“Hello,” said Huw. “Wet, isn't it?”

“Have you seen Nancy and Gwyn?” said Alison.

“They were going down the shop. They won't be long.”

“Are you sure?” said Alison. “I think they're leaving.”

“They will be back soon,” said Huw. “They will not go.”

“Why were they carrying their luggage?” said Alison.

“Practice, is it?” said Huw. “Now why are you getting so wet? You are not used to it like me. You will be catching chill. I am going back the house: come along now.”

He turned Alison by her arm. “I got something for you,” he said. “Present.”

“A present? For me?” said Alison. “It's not my birthday.”

“It is mean people who must wait for birthdays,” said Huw. “No, no, this is just a present.”

“What is it?” said Alison. “Are you sure they're coming back?”

“A present,” said Huw. “I am certain of it.”

They reached the back of the stables. Huw took out a key ring and fanned the keys. They were all worn smooth from his pocket.

“You never been in my part, have you?”

“No,” said Alison. “Look, that door's open.”

“Yes, she's loose now,” said Huw.

“I must tell Roger. What's in it?”

“Nothing,” said Huw. He unlocked his own low green door and steered Alison inside. “You will excuse the untidy.”

It was a room of bare stone and a sloping roof with massive cross beams, and at first there was no suggestion that it was lived in. It was a lumber room in an outhouse, cluttered with boxes and crates, paint cans, oil drums, ropes, mallets, rusted tools, and tins of nails, a chimney sweep's brush and rods. There was no furniture, but planks side by side bridged two beams, and on them Alison saw blankets, and a sack of straw for a pillow.

“You – live – here?” she said.

“Yes,” said Huw. “Always.”

“How long?”

“Always. I am not good at counting years.”

“But there's nowhere to sit, or to cook, no water, no fire. How do you manage? What happens in winter?”

“Winter is a cold time, yes,” said Huw.

“Where do you keep things?” said Alison. “Clothes.”

“I wear clothes,” said Huw. “And I got all the valley to keep things in. But special things: here.”

He rummaged in the blankets.

“Present for you,” he said.

“I don't want it,” said Alison. “That's a beastly trick.”

Huw held out the box. “It is yours,” he said. “The present is inside.”

“I know what's inside. I don't want it.” She pressed herself against a metal bunker. “Don't bring it near me.”

Huw opened the box. “It is special present from the boy. He asked special. All I done is put that old lace on.”

“What?”Alison looked down at the box which Huw held in front of her. The polished slate glowed, and the shape of brow and eye stood clear in the dim light. A leather bootlace was threaded through the hole so that the pendant could be worn.

“He is saying it is very old.” Huw took the pendant out of the box.

“It's too awful – I can't bear it.”

“It is yours. The boy said to give it you for present.”

“No.”

“He wants you to have it, but he is shy to give himself.”

“Put it away! Please! It's too much!”

“No, no, very cheap, nothing at all. I am saying you give it her, boy, but no you give her he is saying, and tell her it is from me. He is a nice boy.”

“No! – Please not!”

Huw lifted the pendant and slipped the bootlace over her head.

“There. Present for you.”

Roger put on clean clothes. The barbs of feather had lodged everywhere, and the dust and smell were still foul in his throat. He opened the bedroom window to clear the air – and he saw Huw Halfbacon come from the back of the stables. The rain moved behind him, the earth boiled as if under a harrow, and he was carrying Alison over his shoulder.

“What's wrong?” Roger called.

“She fainted there. It was present from the boy, then wallop on the bunker.”

“Is she hurt?”

“Let us in quick, and fetch the boy.”

Roger ran to the kitchen.

“Bar the door,” said Huw. He laid Alison on the table.

“What's up with her?” said Roger. “Who's scratched her face?”

Alison's cheek was scored with parallel red lines, but they seemed to be under the skin. There was no bleeding.

“Go fetch the boy,” said Huw. “Tell him be quick.”

“She wants a doctor,” said Roger.

“Go fetch that boy!” shouted Huw. He marched Roger to the door and threw him outside.

“It's wet, you crackpot! Let me in! I've just changed!” Huw had bolted the door. Roger hurried to the cloak-room, was too late, and the front door was locked.

He ran all the way down the drive and the road to the telephone box. The line was dead: silence in his ear. He went into the shop.

“Yes?” said Mrs Richards.

“Telephone,” said Roger.

“Wires are down,” said Mrs Richards. “Tree fallen on the road. Shocking weather, isn't it? They say it's worse along the valley.”