A Terrible Kindness(66)

The screaming continues; he feels the hot rush in and out of his lungs, Gloria’s hand on his back.

‘All right,’ Gloria whispers, sitting up too with her arm across his back, her head on his shoulder. ‘Shhh. I’m here.’ It’s him doing the screaming.

‘Sorry.’ He feels the sweat on his forehead.

She lies down and pulls him next to her, lays his head to her chest. ‘Try to sleep.’ Gloria’s breathing starts to deepen and he tries to enjoy the gentle rise and fall of her. But of course, he won’t go back to sleep. He hates that so many of her nights are disturbed like this – have been since the very beginning of their marriage.

He’s only twenty-three and already married three years. He still marvels at being loved by her. The joy of it can make him want to shout out loud. On his own, in the mortuary, he’ll find himself smiling at the very thought of her, at something funny she said at breakfast, or a kindness shown to him, or Robert, or Howard. But on nights like tonight, it’s guilt he feels, and before he can stop himself, his mind takes him back to the cold, dank phone box in the cheerless dusk after the Aberfan funerals. He said goodbye to her, resolved to forgo his own happiness for the sake of hers. He often tries to resist the memory, to walk himself out of that phone box and the conversation they’re about to have. But it’s so powerful it usually holds him hostage, like tonight, until it’s run its course.

‘Are you finished?’ she’d said.

‘Yes.’ And there was indeed a sense of being finished, his clouded breath suspended above the heavy mouthpiece.

‘Just so I’m clear’ – Gloria spoke a little louder now, as if talking herself back into being – ‘you’re saying that because of what happened to those poor children, you don’t want any of your own?’

‘You weren’t there, Gloria. The pain’s too big. I couldn’t bear it, I just couldn’t.’

He heard her breathing, imagined her flowery fresh fragrance. She felt very close, as if he could have put his finger on the cross-hatch of the receiver and been able to feel her bold, soft lips.

‘William’ – her assured voice was back – ‘I love you too. If you don’t know that by now, you’re a world class idiot.’ He couldn’t help but smile. ‘I have a suggestion. Is that allowed?’

‘It won’t change anything.’

‘Couldn’t we, after all that’s happened, just enjoy being in love? Not having to pretend we’re not? Don’t you think we deserve a bit of happiness? We’re young. We can worry about children later.’

‘No!’ He trampled the bubble of joy in his throat. ‘You can’t marry me thinking I’ll change – I won’t. And you want children.’

‘No, William!’ She sounded angry. ‘It’s you I want, you!’

And in the silence that followed, with the cold of the concrete floor seeping through his soles, he dared to believe she was right and let himself fall into her gorgeous, naive love. They were married six months later.

? ? ?

As Gloria rifles through the basket of varnishes the morning after the nightmare, the familiar chunk and rumble of small glass bottles draws a smile from William.

‘This one all right? She holds up a pearlised pink.

‘Yep. Give it your best, she was a beautician. It’s the first thing her daughter will look at.’

‘What’s her name again?’

‘Barbara.’

‘Come on then, Barb.’ Gloria takes the left hand in hers. ‘Let’s get you gorgeous.’

Saturday mornings are William’s favourite. With Robert and Howard playing golf, he and Gloria have the house to themselves. They take time over a cooked breakfast. Gloria tells stories from the hospital where she’s now a psychiatric nurse, often putting a funny spin on things that couldn’t have been much fun at the time. Their best times have always been chatting in a kitchen, with hot drinks and comforting food.

Occasionally, after breakfast, he’ll have a weekend embalming to do. He’s let off washing up then and, once Gloria’s finished in the kitchen, she comes through to help with the cosmetology.

‘I wonder what’ll happen to her business.’ Gloria gives Barbara’s hand a rub before she starts filing the nails.

‘Her daughter ran it with her.’ William sprays the mortuary table with disinfectant. ‘They both lived above the shop. I suppose she’ll just carry on.’

‘Same set-up as us.’ Gloria blows the dust from the filed nails and hooks the fingers over the side of the coffin.

William leans against the wall and watches her. She hasn’t put her own make-up on yet, and her face is pleasantly pale and stark. My wife, he thinks.

‘Do you mind us still living here?’ he asks.

She picks up the nail varnish and looks at him. ‘One day, I’d like a place of our own, of course I would, but each month without us paying rent, we’ve got a bit more in savings. There’s no hurry, Robert and Howard are sweethearts.’ There’s a gentle tick-tick-tick as Gloria shakes the bottle. She laughs. ‘Do you remember just after we were married, and I asked Howard how he’d fallen in love with Robert?’

‘And he went the same colour as the tomato ketchup.’

Gloria laughs again, the gurgly, lush laugh that William wants to record he loves it so much. ‘And Robert leapt up and started washing up, even though we hadn’t finished eating.’