Shoes for Anthony (4 page)

A bundle of hunched, blackened men all turned round, the whites of their eyes dancing in the lamplight.

‘
Uffach wyllt
,' said one of them, nearest me. ‘He's brought your boy down.'

My father stepped forward, sledgehammer in hand. His face, black with coal dust, was as dark as I had ever seen it. I stared up at him. Father was a tall man, broad across the shoulders, a rugby player in his youth. Could have played for Wales, they said, but he broke an ankle and that was the end of that.

‘I've brought your tommy box, Father,' I said, holding it up.

He raised the back of his hand and struck me, sending a sharp sting throbbing across my cheek. I raised my arm to protect myself. ‘I just thought I'd—'

‘Not another word, Anthony.'

My father stared down at me, livid, and then his eyes darted towards Alf. ‘Was this your doing, Davies?'

‘He wanted to come down,' said Alf, lightly. ‘I was merely obliging.'

‘You bloody idiot. They're blasting shortly. Take him back and get him up.' Taking me roughly by the shoulder, he drew me to one side. ‘Anthony. You must never come down here again. Do you understand?'

I stared into his eyes. ‘I'm sorry, Father. I wanted to see—'

‘Get out of here!' he yelled. ‘Now! I don't want to see you underground again.' He bundled me forcibly back towards the tunnel and pushed me so that I nearly fell. Turning towards Alf, his jaw tightened. ‘I'll speak with you later, Davies. Now get him out of here.'

‘Looks like we're not wanted,' said Alf, pulling his hands from his pockets. ‘No need to get a cob on, Davey. Boy was only bringing you stuff to feed that belly. 'Ere,' he added, taking the tommy box from me, ‘best not forget why we came, eh?' He tossed it towards my father. ‘Ta-ra, then. Enjoy your lunch.'

Father surged forwards but was held back by a man behind him. ‘Leave it, Davey,' he said. ‘You can square it with him later.'

Alf tipped his cap. ‘Come on, then, young Ant. Adventure over.'

‘I'll catch it later,' I said, following him back down the tunnel. ‘I'll get the belt for this. And I've got you in trouble, 'n' all.'

‘Don't mither yourself,' he said, shooting me a glance. ‘I've had worse. He'll give you some snaps, tell me off. I'll shrug and take it. We'll shake hands and that'll be that. Tell you what, how's about you say hello from me to your sister Bethan? That's a fair trade, I say.'

‘All right,' I agreed with a nod.

‘Shake on it, then,' he said, holding out a filthy hand.

I took his hand and we shook. ‘No telling the other lads, mind. Or they'll all want to come down. Anyway,' Alf added, ‘more important … how do you like underground?'

I looked around me. It was filthy, hot and cramped, and yet something about it called to me. ‘I like it very much.'

Ade clattered in through our front door and slid towards the kitchen, boots squeaking across the linoleum. Catching himself with one hand on the doorframe, he stopped and looked towards me. He was panting. ‘Mrs Reece has got a banana!' he yelled. ‘She's going to show it to all the kids in Scott Street. Come on, Ant. We're going up b'there now.'

I cast a glance towards Mam. She had a loaf of bread tucked under one arm and was buttering the cut end with the back of a wooden spoon.

‘Can I go, Mam?' I asked, leaning across the kitchen table. ‘Mrs Reece has got a banana.'

‘Do you know what a banana is?' she asked, not looking up.

I shook my head.

‘Well, go and find out, then. But don't be long. Father and the boys will be back soon, and I want that tin bath out.'

‘Come on, Ant!' yelled Ade, running back out towards the street. ‘Or we'll miss it.'

Pushing back my stool, I jumped up and ran across the kitchen towards my wellies. I'd put them by Mam's stove, hoping they might dry out. But they never did. ‘You've got the feet of an eighty-year-old man,' Mam would tell me, when my toes were white and wrinkled from the wet.

I grabbed a boot and let my foot be sucked downwards. A faint aroma of something deep and damp wafted up, and a familiar cold, clammy sensation flooded across my sole. The boots smelled hot and wet, the way bogs up the mountain do in summer. The stink breathed up my leg, like thick smoke clinging to a pipe. They were black and two sizes too big. They used to belong to Mrs Morris's father, but he died and Mam gave Mrs Morris a pie for them, so now they were mine. My eldest brother Alwyn said the old fella died wearing them, which meant they were haunted. Bopa told me to pay no attention. ‘Wellington boots are not receptacles for spirits,' she said, although she did hear of a woman who swore blind her dead cat was spending eternity in her coal scuttle. I didn't know if my wellies were haunted, but I did know they'd left dark smudged rings around my shins that I couldn't get rid of. ‘It's the rubber,' Bopa always said.

‘Here,' said Mam, handing me a just-cut slice of buttered bread. ‘Take that. And don't be long, mind.'

‘I won't, Mam,' I replied, squashing the soft white bread between my fingers. It was still warm, the butter melting on the top, and as I raced to the door, I shovelled the crusty end into the side of my mouth.

Kids were pelting past me, hobnailed boots sparking off the flagstones, plimsolls scuffing up the clinkers, all helter-skeltering towards the bottom end of Scott Street, where a small crowd of boys and the odd girl were mustering themselves around the doorway of Mrs Reece. I could see Ade, his jumper flapping behind him like a cape. Swallowing the bread, I made after him, my feet squelching along the paving stones.

‘Mrs Reece has got a banana!' Kids were shouting, lumps of chalk discarded, marbles gathered. The air bristled with excitement. Children tumbling up the road like leaves in the wind. Nobody had ever seen a banana. I wasn't entirely sure what one was. I had a vague notion that it might be something massive that had to be held like a baby.

I ran harder to reach the jostling group, head down, arms working like pistons. My feet rattled inside my wellies, flopping about like just-landed fish. I hadn't had proper shoes in over a year. ‘Wear those till you grow out of them,' Mam had said when she first handed them to me.

‘He'll be wearing them until he's old and buried. No chance of him ever growing,' said Alwyn. Everyone laughed. I had always been small for my age. Mam put it down to an infection when I was a baby and a lack of meat since the war started. ‘You're my rations baby,' she said, ruffling my fringe.

‘Runt of the litter, more like,' said Alwyn.

Ade was pushing through the bigger kids at the back. ‘Come on, Ant!' he yelled, gesturing for me to follow him. I slipped through a small pool of elbows and shoulders, kids standing on their tiptoes, straining for the best view of Mrs Reece's front door. Ade reached back and grabbed the sleeve of my jumper to pull me through. ‘Littl'uns up front,' he said, his eyes wide with excitement.

‘She's coming!' cried out Bronwyn Pryce, her face blushing pink.

‘Ssshhh, everyone! The banana's coming!' shouted Ade.

You could hear a pin drop. All eyes were fixed on the door, unblinking.

Mrs Reece appeared, arms folded in a knot, lips pursed tight. She was a stout woman, built like a pit pony, dress sleeves shoved up hard past her elbows, with a faded blue housecoat clinging to every curve. Her hair was dark brown, piled high into a functional topknot, her face soft and full with a hint of colour in the cheeks. Her eyes darted over the group. ‘Now, what's all this?' she said, standing a little taller.

One of the bigger boys behind me shoved me forward. ‘You're the littlest. You ask her,' he said.

‘Mrs Reece,' I said, staring up at her, ‘can we see your banana?'

‘It's the banana, is it?' she replied, one eyebrow raising. ‘Well, now. How many of you want to see it?'

‘I do!' shouted Ade, his hand shooting into the air.

‘And me!' yelled Bronwyn, nodding her head furiously. A small cacophony of excited yelps filled the air.

‘Right,' she continued. ‘Then I suppose I can show it to you.'

I felt Ade's hand on my shoulder as he went up on his toes to get a better view. All eyes were on Mrs Reece as she unfolded her arms and reached into the large front pocket of her housecoat. Pulling the centre of the pocket forward, she lifted out a long, slightly bent yellow thing and held it aloft.

‘There it is. That's my banana!' she said, triumphantly.

A collective gasp rippled through us.

‘What do you do with it?' said Ade, his eyes as wide as plates.

‘You eat it.'

‘How do you eat it?' asked Bronwyn, stepping closer to get a better look.

‘I don't know,' said Mrs Reece, a little sheepishly. ‘I've written to my sister in Cardiff to find out. Until I hear, I'm going to put it on a plate and keep it.'

‘Can I touch your banana, Mrs Reece,' I asked, stepping closer.

She looked down at me and thought about that. ‘All right,' she replied. ‘But a quick touch, mind. And only a feel. You're not allowed to hold it.'

The kids behind me gathered in, jostling from all sides. She lowered the banana and held it out in her palm. I looked at it. It was so peculiar. ‘What's it made of?' asked Ade, his face pushing low into my armpit.

‘It's made of banana,' answered Mrs Reece.

I reached out with my forefinger and let it hover. I didn't know what to expect. I'd touched a grass snake once up our mountain. I thought it would be scaly, raspy, but it was as smooth as silk. ‘Go on,' said Ade, nudging me in the ribs. ‘Touch it!'

I let my finger drop onto the banana's surface. It felt tough, like old leather, but fibrous, the way celery feels in your mouth. I ran my finger along its length, watching the way it curved. ‘It's bendy,' said Ade. ‘Is it broken? Can I touch it too?'

‘No, you can't,' said Mrs Reece, withdrawing the banana and popping it back into her housecoat pocket. ‘They're supposed to be bendy. Right. Fun's over. Off you all go.'

‘Where are you going to keep it?' asked Bronwyn, rubbing the back of her hand across her nose.

‘On a plate in the parlour,' said Mrs Reece, retreating back into her hallway. ‘I'll place it near the window. So you can see it.'

Ade cast me a glance and yanked me towards Mrs Reece's parlour window. Pressing his nose hard against it, he peered in. Joining him, I rested my elbows on the stone sill and watched as Mrs Reece took one of her best flowery plates from her dresser, placed the banana in its centre and presented it on a small round table in front of the window.

‘Let us have a look!' shouted Gwyn Williams, shoving me to one side. Gwyn was a year older than me, taller and broader. He had a squashed-in face, as if someone had pressed him into a flat tin. He elbowed Ade out of his way and raised his hands to cup his eyes against the pane. ‘I'm going to try and eat that banana,' he said. ‘See if I don't.'

‘Don't be daft,' responded Ade, trying to push his way back to the window. ‘Mrs Reece doesn't even know how to eat it. Maybe you can't eat it? Maybe bananas are German tricks?'

‘Did a German give Mrs Reece that banana?' said Gwyn, turning to stare at Ade.

Ade screwed up his nose. He was on unsure ground, but Gwyn was turning nasty and he had to show no weakness.

‘Don't be daft, man. There's no Germans in Treherbert.'

A tight fist popped across Ade's nose, sending him sprawling. ‘Call me daft, is it? I'll show you how daft I am. Get up!'

I bent down to help Ade to his feet. A small drop of blood fell from the tip of his nose, and he rolled his hand into the sleeve of his jumper to wipe it away. His eyes were watering and I could tell he was trying hard not to cry.

‘You didn't have to hit him,' I said, ‘he's half your size.'

Gwyn's knuckles crunched across my cheek and I fell down on one knee. Without looking up, I dived towards Gwyn's knees and tackled him backwards.

‘Fight!' I heard Bronwyn yell.

Fists pummelled into my side, sending a sharp pain ricocheting up my spine. I cried out but held on, kicking down on his ankle in an effort to push myself upwards. My wellingtons scrabbled backwards on the cobbles, but they were wet and I couldn't get a grip. As I slid away, a fat knee came sharp and upwards into my belly. I doubled up, the wind knocked out of me, and as I rolled into the kerb, I felt another fist land on my left side. I looked up into a tight circle of faces.

‘Get up, Ant!' I heard Ade yelling.

Gwyn loomed downwards, I felt my shirt collars being grabbed, and I was hauled upwards. I saw his arm go back but as it did, I swung my right arm and jabbed it forward, catching him on the nose. He reeled away, clutching his face.

‘Leg it!' shouted Ade. ‘He'll kill you!'

But the circle was too tight. There was no escape route. Spitting blood out from his mouth, Gwyn came for me again, his face scowling with fury. My back tumbled against gathered bodies, and Gwyn came in, both fists pummelling, and then, with one fulsome punch, he had me down.

My head hit the cobbles and the world spun away, the taste of clinkers filling my mouth. Everything went quiet and, for a moment, I was utterly at peace, deep and lost, and then a voice, familiar and anxious, floated somewhere above me. ‘You've killed him. You've killed Ant.'

I felt hands pulling me up, there was a smell I knew but couldn't place, and then I opened my eyes and saw my sister Bethan. She was pushing hair from my eyes. ‘Are you all right, Ant?' she said, peering down at me.

‘Dunno,' I said, tasting a tang of blood.

‘Bugger off, Gwyn Williams,' she turned and yelled. ‘If you want a fight, you can have one with me!' I raised my head and narrowed one eye. I could see the back of Gwyn Williams sparking off up Scott Street.