A Terrible Kindness(96)
‘This wasn’t deliberate. I promise.’ Gloria puts her hands on her rounded stomach.
The graveyard is littered with confetti. Frank’s family have been summoned for the photos, and Gloria has accepted William’s invitation for a quick walk. Later, he will describe the service as an out of body experience. Standing next to her during the hymns, he was stabbed by unexpected moments of joy so intense and physical he had to channel the surges of energy into his singing. The first time, verse two of ‘Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven’, he made the vicar physically jump. Martin joined in so it wasn’t just him who drew attention. He didn’t understand how this thing he’d never wanted could make him so happy. Maybe it was simply being next to her again.
‘I believe you,’ he says now, hands in his pockets to fight the impulse to hug her, put his fingers through her gorgeous hair and touch her changed form.
‘Well, good. I’m glad that’s straight.’ She still won’t look at him properly. ‘And I’m pleased you and Evelyn have talked,’ she says after a pause, ‘at long, bloody last.’
He nods. ‘Yes, at long bloody last.’ Their feet crunch on the gravel pathway for a few steps.
‘I wasn’t going to let her be cheated out of being a grandmother as well as a mother.’
‘You did the right thing. You’ve always been better than me at that.’
‘You big pillock, William.’
He expects a smile to slide across her face, but there isn’t one. She’s angry. Of course she is. Wives aren’t like mothers. They can stop loving.
‘How are you?’ He gestures at her stomach and, even though she’s unhappy with him, there’s an involuntary flutter of elation in his own belly.
She shrugs. ‘I’m dealing with it.’
Pink and white scraps of confetti skitter across a gravestone in front of them. A burst of laughter comes from the church. They’ll need to go back soon. He wants to hold Gloria’s hand, which hangs, elegant, by her side, still with her wedding ring on, he notices. His mother and Frank are walking towards the car.
A fresh breeze rolls confetti across the gravel and over Gloria’s cream shoes. She kicks her foot to shake it off. In front of the church, Evelyn is climbing into the lovely old car as Frank holds the door, with a smile splitting his face. The door clunks shut and the car drives away past a crowd of waving people.
On impulse, William reaches out for Gloria’s hand, but she shakes her head. A gust of wind cools his face. There are more clouds than blue sky now. Looking across at Gloria’s stately, heavy form, he suddenly knows exactly what he needs to do next. And he so wants her to be with him when he does it.
‘Gloria?’ He stops walking and is grateful that she stops too, and for the first time, looks him in the eye.
‘What?’
‘I’m going to Aberfan. Will you come with me?’
‘That’s what you’ve got to say to me, is it?’ Her eyes are ferocious; he notices how tightly she’s gripping the handles of her bag. ‘Only I’d wondered whether you might ask me how I’ve managed since you’ve been gone thinking I’m going to be a single mother. I thought maybe you might ask me about that, William!’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, blinking against the instant burn of tears.
Gloria stands steady, glaring at him. ‘I was going to tell you I was pregnant. I was trying to work out the best way to do it. Then there was that awful bloody christening. And then you just … just left! How could you do that to me, William?’
The cool breeze strengthens. His hands are cold; he wants to take hold of Gloria’s. ‘I wanted you to be free of me.’
Gloria shakes her head, lets out a sorry laugh.
‘Please come with me to Aberfan.’
‘When?’ A strand of hair is blown diagonally across her face, but she does nothing to move it.
He shrugs, glances round at the departing cars. ‘Tomorrow?’
Her green eyes seem to give up some of the animosity, searching his face for something. ‘All right.’
He lets go of the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. ‘Thank you, Gloria.’
‘I’ll need the loo a lot,’ she says, not returning the smile.
‘Of course.’
She turns her back on him and heads for the church. ‘Now leave me be for a bit,’ she says over her shoulder, ‘I can’t take too much of you at once.’
‘OK,’ he says, watching the familiar swing of her hips, the purposeful heel-toe of her walk, conscious he’s watching so much more than Gloria; part of himself, part of them. ‘Thank you,’ he shouts.
She raises her arm as she walks away and he can’t tell if it’s in dismissal or acceptance.
64
Once she’s eaten the sandwiches William made for them in Evelyn’s kitchen this morning, Gloria sleeps all the way from Swansea to Merthyr Tydfil. When she wakes, she still doesn’t speak, turns herself away from him to look out of her window. It’s disconcerting. From the moment William met Gloria, she has talked. His adult life has been narrated by her. Driving through the valley villages – Cilfynydd, Troedyrhiw – she would normally have laughed, attempting to read them out loud. So many times, he wants to start a conversation with her, but feels he has no right until she has said what she needs to say to him. In spite of all this, unbidden arrows of joy keep piercing him as he steals glances at her.