A Terrible Kindness(74)

‘Look how relaxed he is!’ Gloria says.

‘Sit down with him’ – Ruth looks eager – ‘he might drop off.’

Carefully, William settles back into the seat, feels the weight of the miniature body relax in his arms, watches the eyelids, slower and heavier with each blink. Everyone else is standing and he’s aware of other guests smiling down at him. He concentrates on the baby, the adults now on the periphery of his vision.

A golden flicker at the edge of his left eye is the only warning, seconds before his body jolts at the certainty that the baby is dead. He struggles to stand, holding it with both hands. He shouts and the baby wakes. But how? It’s dead, and all these people, all these parents are waiting for him. He must do it quickly, before it starts to decompose! He tries to run through the crowd. There’s a cry of anguish. The baby is being pulled from his arms by an angry man. The father wants the body, but William mustn’t give it to him! He tightens his grip on the screaming baby. He must get to work!

‘William! William! Let go of the baby!’

Gloria. Her arms round him. Someone’s sobbing. Where’s the baby? The line of parents stare at him.



‘All right now?’ she asks, searching his face.

The film of sweat cools on his forehead. The cul-de-sac is full of parked cars. They lean on their bonnet in silence. The fresh air helps bring him back to himself, his surroundings. Her hand on his shoulder is gentle and so is her voice, but he senses she’s angry.

‘Get in the other side. I’ll drive, but not yet,’ Gloria says, soft but firm, slipping her hand in his jacket pocket for the keys. ‘I’ve got things to say and you need to hear.’

Once in the car, he stares through the windscreen, exhausted. A gust of wind whistles through the air vent.

‘They must hate me.’

‘No.’

‘Course they do. At least now they’ll know I’m right about not wanting children.’

She twists urgently in her seat towards him. Her eyes are fierce and full of intent. They stare at each other for a moment, him braced against what’s to come. Then her breath heaves in and out and she turns back to look out of the windscreen. ‘I have never told anyone why we haven’t got children’ – she speaks quietly now – ‘but you know what really pisses me off? Not that you don’t want children, or wake up screaming. Do you think I could love anyone as much as I love you – who wouldn’t be touched by the horror of what you saw?’

‘What then?’ he asks, just wanting to get home and sleep.

‘That you don’t have to put up with this. It’s one thing in our home, our bedroom, but William, you scared me today. You could have hurt the baby.’ Her voice wobbles. ‘I just know there’s help out there.’

‘I won’t let it happen again. Clearly, I’m not safe with children.’

‘Yeah, you tell yourself that.’

The unfamiliar tone of sarcasm gets his attention. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re scared of getting help, because of what else it will uncover. This isn’t just about Aberfan.’

‘Here we go.’

Gloria shakes her head, laughs an unpleasant laugh. He unwinds the window.

‘What drives me crazy,’ she says, ‘is that you can’t bear anything to be more than one story. You’ve blighted our marriage because you say you couldn’t bear to suffer like those poor parents of Aberfan. Well, you know what? You’re a bloody hypocrite.’

He didn’t expect an attack. She’s normally so gentle after an episode. A cat strolls onto the pavement and flops down into a plank of sunshine. Physically depleted, all he can do is stare at it.

‘You’ve been inflicting pain every day for years. On your own mother.’ She shakes her head. ‘You can choose not to be a father, but you can’t choose to stop being a son and she can’t ever stop being a mother.’ A couple are leaving the christening. They glance at the car, then, heads down and hands loosely clasped, they walk quickly towards their Morris Minor. ‘You think you’re this wounded, bleeding heart, but really, you’re a tyrant who hurts everyone who gets close to you.’ She waits. ‘Well?’ Her voice is sharp. ‘Have you got anything to say?’

‘You’re right,’ he replies eventually, eyes still on the cat licking its striped flank. ‘I’m a tyrant who hurts everyone close to me.’

‘So,’ she says. He hears her swallow and catches the slight uplift of her chin. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘Simple,’ he says, finally turning to look at Gloria’s troubled, beloved face.





Part IV





MIDNIGHT CHOIR





50




For all he knows, he sleepwalked to the station. William has no memory of boarding the Birmingham to Cambridge later that day. He registers dashes of fields, fresh growth on the trees. The sun on his left burns through the glass and makes the dusty seat smell toasted. He didn’t bring sunglasses, it’s only March. The corner of a shirt is poking out of his suitcase. He doubts he can carry it to Martin’s without the handle breaking, but has no cash for a taxi.

The walk to Jesus Lane tires him out, the sun a malign bore at his temples. He knocks the door and leans his head on the blue paint as he waits for Martin to come down the stairs.