Shoes for Anthony (10 page)

‘Well, I am,' she said. ‘You go in whichever door you please.' And in she went. I dithered, torn between following my mother and being seen by any of the boys in my class. I looked back across the yard. They were all staring. Get on with it. I plunged through the girls' door, a vein of panic pumping through me. I heard jeers echoing around the yard. I'd suffer for that.

Mam had stopped at the end of the corridor. ‘Schools. They always smell exactly the same,' she said, lifting her nose.

‘Ah! Mrs Jones. Thanks for coming in.' Miss Evans strode into view, her hand extended.

My mother stood staring at Miss Evans' flared slacks, blinked, then carefully placed her hand into the one offered. ‘How do you do,' she said, in an unfamiliar posh voice. I frowned at her. She ignored me.

‘Let's go to my classroom. Come on, Anthony. Don't dawdle.'

A brief discussion about the weather covered the gap between corridor and classroom. I said nothing, still none the wiser as to what this might be about. There was no sign of Gwyn or his mother; in fact, I think I'd seen him in the yard kicking a ball against the far wall. I followed Miss Evans and my mother into my classroom and, from habit, began to make my way to my own desk.

‘Come and sit up front, Anthony,' said Miss Evans, placing two chairs opposite her own. My mother sat, her handbag clutched tightly on her lap. I slid onto the chair next to her and sat on my hands.

‘I expect you're wondering why I asked to see you?' said Miss Evans, smiling at my mother.

‘Ant told me about the fight,' said Mam, her lips taut. ‘But he tells me he didn't start it.'

‘No,' said Miss Evans, casting me a glance. ‘He didn't. But that's not why I wanted to speak with you.'

My eyes widened. She does know about the banana. My mother's back stiffened.

‘The thing is, Mrs Jones,' said Miss Evans, crossing her legs and leaning forward, ‘I think Anthony should be put up for scholarship. He's a clever boy and it would be quite wrong for me to encourage him on a path to the pit. With your agreement, I'd like to put him up for the 11-plus and see if we can get him to the Grammar.'

I turned and looked at my mother. She turned and looked back at me. We hadn't expected this.

‘Up for the Grammar?' said Mam, as if the wind had been taken out of her. ‘Nobody from our family has ever done that. I don't know how … I mean, I don't know if we could afford it.'

‘Anthony would be a scholarship boy,' Miss Evans cut in. ‘So that would mean his education would be paid for. You'd simply have to find the funds for his uniform and shoes.'

‘Simply?' said Mam, with a small laugh. ‘We haven't got funds to buy him shoes now.' She nodded down towards my wellingtons.

‘Well,' said Miss Evans, ‘there's a war on. Times are tough. But let's see if we can get him in first, shall we? If he does extra well, we can apply for a Special Place. Then you won't need to shell out a single shilling. There's no harm in trying. How do you feel about it, Anthony?'

‘I don't know anyone at the Grammar,' I said, looking up towards Mam.

‘Not yet, you don't,' said Miss Evans, placing her hand on my forearm. ‘But you're an affable lad. You'll make new friends.'

‘I don't know,' said Mam, her face troubled. ‘I wouldn't want to give him hopes and have him disappointed. And besides, his brothers are down the pit, his father too, and his father before him. It's what we know. He went underground the other day didn't you, Ant?'

I nodded.

‘Wasn't supposed to, mind, but there it is. When it's in your blood, it's in your blood.'

‘Mrs Jones,' said Miss Evans, her face softening, ‘there is nothing harder than changing a pattern. But it doesn't mean we should shut ourselves off from the possibility of change. Anthony has the chance of a different life. A better life. Wouldn't you want that for him?' She stopped and held my mother's gaze.

Mam's fingers tightened on her handbag. ‘Better life? My boys have a good life,' she said, quietly. ‘It may be hard but at least it's honest.'

‘But you've said it yourself, it's a hard life, a terribly hard life, and if Anthony makes it to the Grammar, he can be anything he wants to be. What would you like to be, Anthony?' She turned her gaze towards me.

I looked up at my mother, her eyes perplexed. I wasn't sure what I should do so I thought about what I'd say if Father was with me. I should do what was right. ‘Miner,' I said, looking back towards Miss Evans.

Miss Evans sat back and unfolded her legs. ‘You don't have to say yes now. We've got a while before I have to send off for the papers. But have a think about it over the Whitsun half-term break. It's just an exam. If you don't get in, you don't get in. But I think you can do it, Anthony. I wouldn't ask you otherwise.'

My mother rose. ‘Well, you've given me plenty to think about,' she said, with a terse nod. ‘Anthony' – she nudged her head towards the door – ‘you go back out to the yard. I'd like to chat to your teacher alone, please.'

I headed towards the door, twisting my head round to look over my shoulder as my hand turned the knob. Both Mam and Miss Evans were standing watching me, silent, coiled. Things would be said that I wouldn't hear. I slipped out through the door and stood for a moment trying to listen. Muffled. Low. Gentle. Like hearing a bee somewhere out of sight. I leant back against the wall and turned my head to look down the corridor. The lime-green tiles behind me were cold to the touch, chipped, faded. Everything about the school was run down, worn out. I wondered what the Grammar was like. I thought about the uniform, a pair of shoes …

A pair of shoes.

I stared down at my wellingtons. The blood from earlier was dried now. It looked like a strange, flattened flower. If I leant back on my heels, I could see the ring of rubber on my shins.

‘
Uffach wyllt
,' I mumbled to myself. ‘A pair of shoes.'

The mumble was coming closer. Mam was moving towards the door. Couldn't be caught loitering. So I scarpered.

‘Take that, you little shit!' yelled Emrys, giving me a clout. I fell sideways onto the kitchen table. ‘Showing me up in the street. Who do you think you are? You're nobody. A bloody runt. That's who.'

‘Enough of that!' said Mam, sharply, picking up their coal-dirty clothes from the floor. ‘It was the other boys who made a show of you, not your brother.'

‘He's part of 'em, though, inne?' said Emrys, his face contorted. ‘Mucking about with official war business! You lot need to learn.'

‘Why are you so moithered?' said Bethan, arms crossed and standing in the doorway of the kitchen. ‘It's only boys. Not like you didn't scrap about when you were a young'un.'

‘He's just fouled up after the pit, in't he?' said Alwyn, pulling up the braces on his trousers. ‘Almost fell out of the lift today. Bloody Home Guard. Up all night, he's been. Falling asleep on the job. And for what? So you can make yourself feel better you're not killing Germans? The only person you've got a chance of killing is yourself. You'll be looking after no one when you're dead and in a box. Do as I do, Emrys. I look after one person – myself.'

‘You what?' said Mam, stopping what she was doing. ‘Almost fell out of a lift? That true, Emrys?'

Emrys shrugged and reached for a cigarette from the kitchen mantelpiece. ‘We were going down. Dram lift coming up. One of the drams went loose, lift smashed into ours. I wasn't concentrating. Two lads went over the rail. Broken legs, both of 'em.'

‘One was Penwyth Collins,' said Father from the back step, where he was standing staring up at the mountain. ‘He'll not work again.'

Mam clutched the dirty work clothes to her. ‘Oh, no, Davey. His wife's expecting.'

‘Perhaps you can put together something,' said Father, turning to Mam. ‘Anything extra you might have. We should give them what we can.'

Mam stared at him. ‘I don't know if we have got …'

‘Whatever we can, Em,' said Father.

A heavy silence filled the kitchen.

‘It's only a matter of time before something worse happens,' said Alwyn, who was now stretching out a discarded rabbit skin onto a wooden board. ‘Mark my words. More coal needed. Not enough men. We're going too deep into seams. Blasting without manholes. Cutting corners. When men are told to speed things up, safety is the first thing out the window. Pit owners don't care. All they care about is shifting seams and reaching quotas. Well, bugger that. It's not worth it.'

‘Without us, the war effort grinds to a halt,' said Father, his expression dark and his brow furrowed. ‘No engine runs without coal. No machinery builds armaments. Everything needs power, energy. This is how we serve. Never lose sight of that, Alwyn. There are men, neighbours, people we know, fighting in fields abroad. They risk their lives gladly. We can do the same. Don't tell me it's not worth it.'

‘Tell me it's worth it when one of us is in a wooden box,' Alwyn grumbled, taking a nail and piercing the stretched rabbit skin.

Mam cast a glance towards me. ‘Pass me the hot water, Ant,' she said, softly.

She let the clothes in her arms fall into the washtub. She'd let them soak overnight, scrub them in the morning, hang them on the line if it was dry, hang them by the fire if it was wet. I had never known any different. Neither had she. There were comforts to be had in the familiar, the everyday rituals of our lives, and yet … I passed her the pan of water. Our eyes met and I felt consumed with a small, burning terror that something bad was going to happen.

I snuck upstairs, tucked the banana under my jumper, took it out into the garden and threw it down the outtie.

‘Fancy coming to the pictures?' said Bethan, hand on hip, head tilted to one side.

I stared up at her from under the bed.

‘Thought you could do with a treat, what with all the scraps you've been in.'

‘What's on?'

‘Dunno,' she said with a shrug. ‘Let's go and see, shall we? Besides, I need a beau to take me. May as well be you?'

I slid sideways and pushed myself up. ‘Thought Alf might be your beau,' I said, following her from the room.

Bethan stopped and turned to face me. ‘Are you mad? What gave you that idea? I've not stepped out with him. Nor am I going to.'

‘Dunno,' I said. ‘He's asked after you, been round, like. Reckon he's sweet on you. Alwyn says so.'

‘Yeah, well,' said Bethan, with a snort, ‘he can be as sweet on me as he likes. Doesn't mean I'm going to like him back. Come on. If we get a lick on, we can make the six-thirty. You've got a proper shiner coming up.' She stood back and regarded my face. ‘Does it hurt?'

‘Bit,' I said. I was in a strange mood. I felt out of sorts. So many thoughts swirling through me, full of feelings I didn't know what to do with. Bad things happen. I felt haunted by the idea.

As we came down the stairs, I could hear my brothers laughing. ‘So he bites into his sandwich,' said Alwyn, ‘and there's no filling. Instead, there's a handwritten note. And he spits it out, opens his sandwich, pulls it out, reads it. It says, “I hope you choke on it, you bastard!”' He let out a loud laugh.

‘No!' said Mam, sitting in her usual spot in the parlour, unravelling the never-ending jumper.

‘Honest, like!' said Alwyn, his face animated. ‘Wife had stuck it in his sarnie. Turns out he's been having it away with one of the women up at Polikoff's.'

‘Who?' said Mam, frowning.

‘Dunno. But her fella's away fighting, ain't he?'

‘No way to behave.' Mam tutted and shook her head.

‘All the same, funny, ain't it? “I hope you choke on it, you bastard!” Ha! That'll teach him!'

Father was sitting in his chair, legs turned towards the fire, glasses on, reading
David Copperfield
. He stopped and looked up. ‘There is no fun to be had from other people's bad choices, Alwyn. Mistakes are things we learn from. Make a mistake once, and learn from it. Make the same mistake twice, and that's a choice. It's by our choices we are judged. You'd do well to remember that.'

Alwyn's smile stiffened. Mam gave him a small shake of her head. ‘Put another lump on for me, there's a good lad.'

‘You off out?' asked Emrys, seeing Bethan reaching for her coat.

‘Ant's taking me to the pictures, aren't you?' She looked down at me. I nodded.

Emrys stood up. ‘I'll come with you. Nothing worth listening to on the wireless, anyhow. You coming, Alwyn?'

Alwyn was standing by the hearth, lump of coal in hand. He shook his head. ‘Nah. I'm gonna stretch out the rest of them skins.' He nodded back towards the kitchen.

Emrys walked towards the door and, ducking suddenly, raised the back of his hand towards my face. I flinched but he didn't hit me. ‘I'm messing with you, boy,' he said, pushing past me to lift his coat and cap off the rack of hooks in the hallway. ‘Look at the state of you. You need to toughen up if you're going undergound. You won't last five minutes.'

I cast a glance towards Mam, but if she'd heard, she didn't show it. She was staring into the fire, the fresh coal sending new flames crackling upwards. She looked tired, her head gently falling onto one shoulder. The half-unravelled jumper sat limply in her lap.

‘I'll have a cup of tea, Em,' said Father, turning another page in his book.

Mam blinked and, for a moment, looked around the room as if she didn't quite know where she was. She didn't reply, simply got up and disappeared into the kitchen.

‘Right, then,' said Emrys, opening the front door, ‘let's get going. What's the film, anyway?'

‘Dunno,' I said, turning to follow him.