Riding the Storm Read online

  ‘You’ve gone backwards,’ said Mrs Parry, the next day. She picked up the china calf. ‘At least he’s looking as cheerful as ever.’

  Alun closed the blank pages of his exercise book and asked Mrs Parry if she would read the folk tale to him. Yes, the same one. Her eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Would you, Mrs Parry?’

  ‘I’ll read it to you in Welsh,’ she said.

  He knew why he wanted to hear the story. At that moment it seemed as if Rhiwallon was his last chance. Without him he would never get better. Without him he would never bear to face the future, the long prison sentence.

  ‘Cheer up, Charlie,’ said Mrs Parry. ‘It might never happen.’

  When they put me away, thought Alun, I’ll never ever see Dad again.

  Chapter Four

  THE CONFESSION

  ‘There’s something badly wrong,’ whispered Olwen, sitting up in bed and combing her long hair that jumped with static.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Sara.

  ‘Not me, silly, though I have another op coming up. I mean Alun.’

  ‘He’s all right.’ Sara arranged her blanket carefully. ‘It’s his accident. His head’s gone funny, that’s all.’

  ‘Someone should be told.’ Olwen started to plait her hair tightly so it would be crinkled in the morning. ‘I think there’s something else and he’s not letting on.’

  She carefully put her brush into her locker while Sara took out a picture of a beautiful pony with a rosette stuck in his ear. ‘Love you,’ she whispered, kissing the animal quickly on the nose and putting him back in her drawer.

  The ward fell silent and the winter moon climbed the window as they went to sleep.

  Towards the middle of the night, Huw sat up. Alun, who had been lying awake, watched him. ‘Rhiwallon’s back. Staring. As if he knows . . .’

  Alun pulled himself up and looked at the mirror. He too saw Rhiwallon, pale as the moon, with wet hair and arms outstretched, as if he had just come out of the lake to comfort him. We felt calmer than he had done for a long time. Then after a few minutes Rhiwallon disappeared and Alun’s old feelings of doubt came back.

  ‘Rhiwallon. It’s all rubbish,’ he muttered. ‘I bet you wouldn’t believe in anything, anything, if you’d done something terrible.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I dunno. Just something terrible.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with Rhiwallon?’ said Huw. Softly but very deliberately, he said, ‘I really mean it. He is Rhiwallon and he’s given us Myddfai for a reason.’

  ‘You gone donkeys?’ said Alun. For a while they were silent until Alun repeated in a low voice, ‘But say you’ve done something terrible.’

  ‘Like throwing your dinner on the wall? That rice pudding was –’ Huw heaved.

  ‘Like throwing anything. Like throwing a stone. Or a baby or something.’

  Huw giggled. ‘They don’t bounce, you know. Hey, what’s the matter?’

  Alun was shaking, his tears gathering and overflowing, their weight too great to stop. He made a strange noise as he tried to keep them down. But they welled up and up and he shook to and fro.

  ‘Hey, what is it? Shall I call a nurse?’

  Alun’s voice came out hoarse and rushed.

  ‘No!’ ‘You in pain?’ Alun shook his head and as the fit subsided

  he felt for his tissues. His hand touched Myddfai and he picked up the calf and squeezed it tight. He looked round to make sure everyone else was asleep.

  ‘Promise not to tell.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘Say, I swear by Rhiwallon I won’t tell.’

  ‘I swear by Rhiwallon I won’t tell.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to. It was the hurricane,see? I really didn’t mean to.’

  ‘Mean to what?’

  After a silence Alun whispered: ‘K-K-Kill the baby!’

  ‘Have you gone funny or something?’

  ‘You swore not to tell,’ said Alun fiercely.

  ‘Of course I won’t tell.’

  Alun blew his nose. ‘The funny thing is I forgot. Then I remembered and forgot again. And now I know forever. It was the night of the hurricane.’

  ‘Lots of people went mad that night,’ said Huw. ‘They say millions of trees fell. Our chimney was off and we couldn’t have a fire for ages. One of the trees in the churchyard next to us just missed our house. My father said it was a miracle it didn’t hit us. The Tywi flooded all the way down through the valley. It was something to see, I can tell you.’ He paused, eagerly. ‘Someone died. Did you know that?’

  Alun blew his nose again.

  ‘Here, have a drink.’ Huw struggled out of bed and handed Alun a glass of water.

  ‘You sure you’re not imagining it? It could be the accident that makes you think like that.’

  Alun gulped the water and handed Huw the glass. He was calmer now and thought for a while. ‘I threw her down and when I picked her up she was white and still, like Mamgu when they laid her out before the funeral. Then I ran away on my bike. That’s how I had the accident.’

  ‘It might be your head,’ persisted Huw as he rolled back into bed. ‘Like you couldn’t see or remember. But you’re getting better now,’ he added cheerfully. ‘You’re on the mend and you’ll soon be on crutches.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Alun, ‘they’ll come for me when I’m better. They’ll put me away. That’s what they do when you’ve killed someone.’

  Huw sighed. ‘How do you know she’s dead?’

  ‘She didn’t move, did she? And there was blood, wasn’t there?’

  ‘Tadcu didn’t move when he went unconscious,’ said Huw. ‘They took him in here and he came round.’

  Alun spoke slowly: ‘Don’t you see, I’ve got the proof and it’s really simple. If the baby wasn’t dead my Mam would come and see me.’

  ‘You should tell Mrs Parry. She’ll sort it out.’

  ‘I’ve already told Sister I want to see Mam and she said she would come soon. But I know she won’t.’

  Huw turned back to the cupboard. ‘It was an accident,’ he said. ‘You didn’t mean to . . .’

  ‘It wasn’t an accident,’ said Alun.

  They fell silent and after a while Huw whispered, ‘I can see him again. I think he’s come to help us.’

  Alun stared at the mirror. It calmed him down, concentrating on something else. The glass was full of shadows and light and he thought he saw Rhiwallon standing behind them, holding out his hand, his eyes intense. Like Huw said, someone who understood, someone who could make things better.

  ‘Please, whoever you are –’ He used to pray when he was small and Dad took him to church where they all believed. It was an old grey stone building in Lammas Street and he liked the feel of it. Then he stopped going because of what Mam had said. ‘Those that go are no better than those that don’t. Besides, He never seems to listen, does He?’

  When Dad left home Alun knew she was right and that God had a blind eye. But now he wasn’t sure. There was Huw and his family, always smiling and together; and Sara who took it for granted she was stuck in that wheelchair for the rest of her life. He stopped thinking because he couldn’t understand, as if he was on another planet. He went on staring at the glass until Rhiwallon slipped away and it was only silver light that filled his eyes. He felt sleepy now and somehow or other found himself in a field of cows where Myddfai was looking for his mother. After a while the black calf found her grazing by a little bridge over the river, not far from the dam. Alun ran down to stroke him. Behind, the Black Mountain rose like a shadow and on the other side of the bridge Rhiwallon was smiling, holding out his hand . . .

  Alun stood unsteadily between the physiotherapist and the nurse.

  ‘One step at a time,’ said the physiotherapist in a warm encouraging voice. It won’t take long.’

  He leant on the crutches and took a step forward, then another.

  ‘They fit well,’ said the warm voice, as Alun made his
way from Bryn’s bed down to the babies’ ward. When he reached the door everybody clapped.

  ‘You’re over the border.’

  ‘You’re on the mend.’

  He came slowly back and Sara wheeled her chair behind him, smiling and encouraging him. She isn’t even thinking she will never, he said to himself. She isn’t even thinking.

  The physiotherapist made him go up and down again then she sat him on a chair, propped up his leg on a stool and held out his arms.

  ‘What’s this round your wrist?’

  ‘My padlock. Can’t you see?’

  ‘Frightened of losing it?’

  ‘Not really.’

  It was true – there didn’t seem much point clinging to it now.

  ‘You’ll have to spend Christmas here –’ the physiotherapist smiled sympathetically. ‘Then you’ll be going home.’

  ‘Lots of things to do,’ said Mrs Williams, giving out pencils. ‘You’ll see. There’s nothing like Christmas in hospital. We’ll start getting ready soon.’

  ‘I hate Christmas,’ said Alun. Mrs Williams pushed back her long fair hair and looked business-like. ‘It takes time to prepare properly. We like to do something a little different.’ Sara manoeuvred her chair: ‘Have you forgotten I’m going to Myddfai for the Ruby Wedding? I’ll come back with plenty of ideas.’

  Mrs Williams smiled. ‘Since you all seem quite obsessed with the story of Rhiwallon we will use it for Christmas. What about taking the theme of healing further? You could write poems, make pictures. Then we must make our own nativity figures –’

  ‘And decorate the ward’ said Bryn, ‘Like at home. We plaster our house with decorations. My father says it makes him forget how badly he is doing.’

  ‘Farming can only get better,’ said Mrs Williams cheerfully. ‘What about you, Alun? Have you any ideas?’

  Last year Dad had bought a tree in the market. It was a real tree this time, not one of those phoney ones. They spread out a sheet to catch the needles and Dad brought the decorations down from the loft. It was always a good moment, looking at them again. Then Mam came in with Tony and gave him a drink and the arguing began. He could hear their voices in his head.

  ‘Why did you go and spend on that? Needles everywhere. What’s wrong with an artificial one? You can bring it out every year. You’re so –’

  The decorations had tarnished in Alun’s hand, as if their shining had gone somewhere else. In the end he and Dad decorated the tree in silence as if they were | getting ready for a funeral.

  ‘I hate Christmas,’ he told Mrs Williams again.

  ‘Not here you won’t,’ she replied, ‘You won’t have time.’ She delved in the plastic bag and brought out lumps of clay, dividing them between the children. Alun’s lump felt cold and clammy in his hand. His fingers were already working better, so he rolled up a little ball in his left hand and threw it at Huw. Then he flung more pieces into the air until Huw stopped laughing and shouted, ‘Hey, Alun, that’s enough.’

  Mrs Williams stood over him crossly: ‘I didn’t give you that to throw away, did I?’

  She swept away the clay and left him there, sullen, with nothing to do. He would like to pelt them all, everyone of them. He clamped his lips in anger.

  They don’t understand, full stop. Not a thing. Giving me clay to play with when I’ve, when I’ve – as if I’m Huw or someone. When I’ve, when I’ve –

  He put on his jumper and reached for his crutches.

  Mrs Williams rounded on him.

  ‘Where do you think you are going?’

  ‘Toilet.’

  She nodded and ignored him as he clumped his way between the beds. Everyone busy, he thought, everyone talking together. And the only person who knew anything about him was ten years old and didn’t believe him anyway.

  He passed the toilets on the right and went through the swing doors and out of the main exit. Outside, a long stretch of grass led to other parts of the hospital. He hobbled over to a bench under a conker tree and sat there wondering where he could go. He knew there were places in Carmarthen, but he didn’t know how to go about it, not with his crutches and everything. Perhaps they had information at the job centre – that’s where everyone went, didn’t they? It was the sort of building anyone would go into, however down and out, and come to think of it he might meet Dad there and –

  He was thinking so hard he didn’t see Olwen walk over to him.

  ‘Mrs Williams says you’re to come back.’

  He said nothing and looked away.

  ‘Come on, Alun, it’s cold out here.’

  Cold! He hadn’t even noticed. ‘I like being out here.’

  ‘It’s not allowed. Anyway, it’s horrible. All these vans and car parks. Come on, Alun.’ She held his arm. ‘We could make something together. You’re spoiling everything and you know how it matters.’

  He turned and looked at her in close-up – her long, brown hair, her small nose, her flecked brown eyes, her little mouth, her small teeth. He liked the way she spoke as if she really meant it.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ he said and she promptly picked up his ? crutches and handed them to him.

  ‘You should always keep those next to you.’

  He accidentally touched her hand and to his astonishment his anger melted away. Would she really work with him?

  All the afternoon they sat at the table opposite each other. She was modelling Joseph and he was making Mary. They had to be the same size, they decided, about twenty centimetres high.

  ‘My Joseph looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame,’ laughed Olwen and Alun smiled.

  He wanted to go on being near her so he worked hard, dipping the fingers of his left hand into the yoghurt pot of water so he could wet the clay and work it better. Soon he forgot his anger. Perhaps he could make something of being here with Olwen. Funny, he had never really thought about her at school. Well, you didn’t, did you, not if your head was filled with shouting.

  The afternoon sun shone in a pool of gold on the cupboard mirror. Now his nightmare went away with all the other bad dreams he had had.

  Sometime later Mrs Williams lifted up his little figure. ‘She’s really beautiful. Have you done clay work before?’

  ‘In the infants,’ he said, but he couldn’t make it sound scornful. He looked at the figure in Mrs Williams’s hand and was amazed at what he had done. The gentle face, the long soft fall of the robe. His Mary was the opposite of all he had been feeling.

  ‘I’d like to show everyone this,’ said Mrs Williams and before he could say no she took his little figure round the little group and showed Sister who was bustling in from the babies’ ward.

  ‘Hidden talent,’ said Sister and added rather sharply to Alun, ‘and mind you don’t hide it any longer, Alun.’

  ‘The Inspector will be pleased with this,’ said Mrs Williams proudly.

  That night Alun wondered why they had not punished him for disobeying the rules. Perhaps it was because they were pleased with his work. Perhaps that was the answer: if he worked hard they might not treat him as a criminal or a nutcase and put him away. He looked down the ward at the girls’ end but could only see Olwen’s hair piled over the pillow. In his mind he walked over and kissed her just as if she were a princess or something. Then he stopped himself daydreaming because Huw was awake and he might read his mind. He was that sort of kid. The moon shone through a crack in the curtain and Huw was staring at the mirror. Alun followed his gaze but tonight he could only see a sparkle of white where the moonlight tipped the glass. Yet there were shadows and a shadowy figure and it would be good to tell everything to Rhiwallon. He knew it was a daft thought but tonight everything seemed possible. After all, he’d made his dream mother figure and everyone had thought she was lovely.

  After a long silence Huw pulled himself up.

  ‘He’s back,’ he whispered and the whites of his eyes shone. ‘He might help you. Why don’t you go and touch him?’

  Perhaps Rhiwallon was back an
d his eyes were letting him down. Alun looked round the ward. Nurse was in the office and everyone else was asleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he had this small buzz of energy in his blood.

  He felt for his crutches and heaved himself out of bed.

  Every step he took sounded deafening to him but no one woke. He moved fast and it didn’t take him long to come face to face with –

  He stared, amazed and half disappointed. For this time it was not Rhiwallon peering at him from the shadows of the mirror: it was Dad, looking half crazy with a bandage over his head as if the world had given him a terrible headache. Dad was smaller than he remembered, as if he was at some distance, but recognisable, the same small nose, the same screwed-up eyes, and a mouth like a question. Then Dad went away and he was looking at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t believe it. He had grown, a few centimetres or so and his new hair, bushing outside the bandage, was curly, like Dad’s.

  Before he could collect himself there was someone else coming into the mirror.

  ‘Whatever are you playing at?’ asked the nurse.

  ‘Look,’ he said, without thinking. ‘I’m taller.’

  ‘You didn’t have to get up in the middle of the night to find that out,’ she said, but she wasn’t cross and walked behind him as he returned. She propped his crutches against the side of his bed and tucked him up. He wanted to tell her about Dad, but it didn’t come out that way.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said and looked over at Huw whose eyes were shut so tight they were almost trembling. That meant he could talk to the nurse privately, without Huw hearing.

  He found himself speaking to her quite easily.

  ‘You know the tale about the Lady of Llyn y Fan Fach and how she married then went back into the lake and her son Rhiwallon became a healer?’

  The nurse nodded and looked at her watch.

  ‘So it’s story-time, is it?’ she smiled. ‘And what’s all this about a ghost in the mirror?’