Eleven
It was still dark when I made my way for breakfast the following morning and the cold air had brought with it the first flurries of snow, which coated the fields and made them sparkle in the last remnants of the moonlight. The house was already alive with activity and I could hear the voices of Mr and Mrs Hopkin and the clattering of pots and pans as she prepared breakfast from across the courtyard.
Rather than the familiar sounds of the family chatting, the voices coming from inside the house were tense and fraught with anger, so I hung back and waited in the cold morning air. I tried not to eavesdrop but it was difficult not to hear the worry in Mrs Hopkin’s voice as she fretted about the empty shelves in the pantry and I was once again left feeling guilty for my lack of contribution whilst being fed by them each day.
As I edged closer to the door to try and hear more of the conversation it swung open leaving me caught in the act. Betty stepped out and crashed straight into me, but instead of turning crimson like she normally would, she just looked fed up.
“We need more water. Can you help me?” she asked. She wouldn’t meet my gaze, but this time it felt like it wasn’t her shyness that was stopping her.
“Is everything ok?” I asked as we collected pails from the shed. “Your mother sounded upset.”
“It’s Nan,” she replied. “Well, not her specifically, but her return.” She dropped her buckets down in front of the water pump with a crash and brought her hands up to her face, exasperated. “Mama is worried about how she will feed everyone. Christmas is coming and income from the farm is always low in winter. I hate seeing her like this.”
Whether they blamed me or not I had to accept that at least part of the responsibility for Nan’s dismissal lay with me. My presence also meant an extra mouth to find food for, so I had to do something that would make things right.
“Betty, I have to go. Will you be ok with the water on your own?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied as I began making my way back to the barn at pace. “But where are you going? You haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“I know,” I called back to her. “Tell your parents I won’t be eating today. I’ve got some errands to run. I will be back this evening.”
“But what about-” she called out, but I was too far away to hear or worry about the rest of what she said. I had formed a plan.
“Is your brother home?”
“Well, hello to you too?” Mair said, looking up from the pot she was stewing over the fire as I entered the cottage. “He’s just getting dressed.”
“I need to go into the city and I have no idea where to go or how to get there, so I thought you and Gwyn could take me. What do you say?”
“Today? You’ve got no chance. Do you think this house just runs itself? I’ve got far too much to do.”
I looked around the room, everything exactly as it was the last time I was there and every other time before that, and wondered what it was she actually did with her time.
“Don’t mind her,” Gwyn said, coming out of his bedroom. He had a towel thrown loosely over his bare shoulders and his face was wet, his beard looking neater than I’d seen it since we first met. The bruising on his side appeared to have changed colour again, this time filled with yellows, and it was now not much bigger than a handprint. I was glad to see him healing well. I was glad to see him at all. “She’s just fussing because she has a gentleman caller today so I was about to go out myself.”
I turned to Mair and raised my eyes, pretending to be shocked. “Miss Griffiths! The scandal.”
“Don’t you start,” she said, throwing a cloth at me. “Mr Jones is just coming to escort me to the post office.”
“Mr Jones who helped get the men from the mine?” I asked, remembering the old man who had taken charge of the rescue efforts. I scrunched up my face in disapproval. “He’s got to be thirty years older than you.”
“Not him, twp, his son, Ioan. And it’s all perfectly innocent so you can both stop making faces unless you want to feel the back end of my spoon,” she said, waving her ladle at us. The wet contents from it flung off, making a stain on the front of her shirt. “Aw, look what you did now.” She shot us both an unimpressed look and rushed off into her room.
“So how about it then?” I asked, turning my attention back to Gwyn. “Will you come with me to Aberystwyth? I really don’t think I could make it there and back on my own. I haven’t left the village since I got here. If you don’t have other plans, that is.”
“You know, you don’t have to make excuses to come over here,” he said with a cheeky grin.
I rolled my eyes, pretending not to like his teasing. “Is that a yes, then?”
He glanced at the clock on the mantel, “We will have to go now if we want to get the bus.”
“The bus?” I asked, confused.
“Well, you don’t plan on walking, do you?”
The bus was, of course, nothing like I might have expected. Once Gwyn was dressed we’d made our way through the village, past the pub and up the road out of Cwm Newydd, reaching the top of the hill just as a large horse-drawn wagon made its way down the lane towards us. Gwyn, on the promise that I would pay him back, covered my fare, tossing some coins to the driver before we hopped on the back.
The inside of the wagon was cramped. Long wooden benches ran along either wall and a thin, hay-covered gangway through the middle left little room to move. The only other passenger onboard was an old lady who was asleep at the front, but it seemed like it could become very crowded quite quickly if many more people got on along the way. I looked out of the window as we pulled away from the village, excited to see the city for the first time.