The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Anwen was preparing to accompany Nerys to church. She was wearing a blouse buttoned to her neck, a skirt well down past her knees and a pair of flat shoes. Her hair was brushed to gleaming and she wore the lightest of makeup on her lips and eyes. Looking at herself in the mirror she grimaced, she felt hideous.

She reluctantly dragged herself downstairs and into the kitchen
. She glared at Gwyn who was sniggering as she entered.

‘My, Anwen, you look lovely!’ Nerys cooed as she swatted Gwyn across the back of his head with a tea-towel
. ‘Shall we get off?’

They grabbed their coats and left the house
. Anwen stuck her tongue out at Gwyn as she left and he snickered all the more. The two women waved goodbye to Dafydd who was up on the barn roof nailing slates to battens and they made their way down the lane towards the main road that would lead them to the church.

Outside the church they were greeted by the local parishioners
. Anwen recognised everyone there, Nerys reacquainted herself with those she knew and shook hands with those she didn’t. The handshaking and welcome smiles continued on into the church, the congregation pleased to have two more to add to the dwindling flock.

Anwen noticed there were far more wom
en than men dotted among the half empty pews and she wondered idly why that was. Just as Anwen and Nerys were getting settled the wheezing pipe organ leaped into life, the congregation stood and the rotund vicar sauntered down the centre aisle with an air of self-importance. He stepped up into the pulpit and looked behind him at the numbers on the hymn board. He waited for the organist to stop playing with ill hidden exasperation and spoke in a dreary monotone voice. ‘Hymn number two hundred and sixty-one.’ Nerys began singing with gusto, her soprano voice mingling with the congregation, Anwen just mouthed the words.

Anwen was beginning to lose the will to live by the time two more hymns and a reading from the bible was delivered by a reedy old woman who spoke through her
nose. ‘James five. Thirteen to twenty,’ she began, ‘is any one of you in trouble?’ Anwen sank into her seat. ‘He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise. Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord …’ Anwen looked round the church and blocked out the grating voice. Craning her neck she looked around the pews trying to spot vicar’s son, Marcus Harris-Morgan. She found him sitting near the front of the church next to his dowdy, snooty, cadaverous mother, Mrs Abigail Harris-Morgan.
“Why yes,
I am
originally from
the
Harris family, my father was a Bishop, don’t you know!”

Anwen wrinkled her nose and got a shove in the ribs from Nerys’ elbow
. ‘Stop staring,’ Nerys whispered from the corner of her mouth. Anwen sat up straighter and concentrated on the reader.

‘My brothers, if one of you should wander from the truth and someone should bring him back, remember this: Whoever turns a sinner from the error of his way will save him from death and cover over a multitude of sins.’
The old woman gingerly stepped down from the lectern and retook her seat.

V
icar Morgan cleared his throat. ‘And so, what are we to learn from this passage?’ he asked the congregation, not expecting or wanting them to answer. ‘Prayer … prayer is the answer to all afflictions on the body, mind and spirit … the remedy is to pray, whether we pray for forgiveness, or pray for someone who suffers sickness or pain, whether we pray for wisdom or simply wish to contemplate our lives in the presence our Lord, we
must
pray!’

Enough
, Anwen thought to herself,
enough, I can’t take any more
. Her head rolled back to rest on the back of the pew and she stared at the ceiling, drifting far, far away, daydreaming.

‘Let us pray.’
The vicar’s voice made Anwen jump back to reality. He sounded as though he was standing right next to her, but when she lifted her head he was still perched in his box.

‘
Our Father who art in heaven …’ the parishioners chanted together, ‘hallowed be thy name …’

Anwen snuck another look at Marcus Harris-Morgan and he caught her staring. He smiled and she quickly looked away blushing. Anwen thought Nerys had missed the exchange as her head was bowed in sombre prayer, but as Anwen ducked her head back down Nerys again whispered, ‘Stop staring!’

When the service was over, Anwen and Nerys deposited their prayer books back on the shelf at the end of the aisle and accepted the offer of tea and biscuits being served at the back of the hall in yellowy tea cups on scuffed saucers.

‘Will you take
a biscuit?’ offered Anne Harris-Morgan, as she smiled up from her tea-making duties. Her hands were full with a battered metal milk jug and a chipped plate carrying an assortment of stale looking pink wafers and digestives absently piled on top of one another.
I bet she wouldn’t serve tea like this at home,
Anwen thought,
it would all be fine china, silver sugar tongs and linen napkins.

‘Thank you, I will
.’ Nerys leaned over and delicately picked a pink wafer from the plate and set it on her saucer.

‘Did you enjoy the service?’ Anne’s affected voice was made worse by her horsey yellowing teeth and her pinched mouth. Her hay coloured hair had been severely cut into a box shaped bob framing her face unattractively and made her look
as though she was wearing a helmet. She had worn her hair in this style for all the time Nerys had known her, only the colour had changed gradually, fading strand by strand.

‘The service was lovely,’ Nerys said graciously
. ‘Your husband has such a fine speaking voice.’

‘And you Anwen, did you enjoy the service as much as your
aunt? Did you understand the message?’ Anne’s eyes were cold and questioning but her smile remained fixed.

‘Oh yes, it was
… very interesting.’ Anwen nodded her head and smiled sweetly like the dutiful Christian niece she was playing.

‘Don’t stan
d talking to my mother too long, she’ll rope you into the Mothers’ Union quicker than you can blink!’ Marcus smiled as he joined the little circle.

Anwen took the opportunity to appraise him as if he was a ram at market. His hair was tawny brown
, neatly combed and parted in a flick, he was medium height, slightly overweight and Anwen wondered if his mother had chosen and bought his clothes as they looked a little too middle aged for the young man standing in them. Anwen thought he was mediocre, nothing special to look at, just like his parents.

‘Don’t you have to be a mother to join the Mother
’s Union?’ Anwen asked, trying not to blush.

‘No, no
!’ Marcus laughed patronisingly and Anwen felt herself bristle. ‘The only qualification you need is to be a dab hand in the kitchen.’

‘Oh, Anwen is a marvellous cook,’ Nerys interjected, ‘her apple crumble is to die for, you should taste it Marcus
. One mouthful and you’ll be hooked for life!’ She chuckled and patted his arm.

‘Really, well maybe I’ll get the privilege one day.’ Marcus smiled at Anwen and she felt herself blushing again.
Anne let her mask slip momentarily and frowned peevishly. ‘Marcus, can you take these biscuits round for me?’

‘Of course mother
.’ He accepted the plate and was about to leave when he added, ‘Anwen, there’s a film club that meets every Monday evening in the church hall, perhaps you’d like to join us? Tomorrow’s showing is The Pink Panther, it starts at seven o’clock if you’d like to come? I can give you a lift home if you like, I’ve just passed my driving test.’ He beamed smugly.

‘Anwen would love
to!’ Nerys agreed quickly. ‘I’ll see she gets there safely if you could see her home that would be lovely, thank you Marcus.’

Marcus nodded and smiled
. ‘See you tomorrow then, Anwen,’ he said, as he vanished into the small crowd to pass the biscuits round.

‘Well, we must be off,’ Nerys said to a peeved Anne
. ‘We’ve got two hungry men waiting for their roast dinner.’

‘Oh,
goodbye then.’ Anne’s mask was firmly back in place, her friendly smile not quite reaching her eyes. ‘Give my regards to Dafydd and Gwyn won’t you? How long are you staying at Ty Mawr, Nerys?’

‘As long as needs be
– my house is being remodelled you know. Brand new kitchen, brand new bathroom, oh brand new everything, goodness how long it’s all going to take to be finished!’ Nerys boasted but feigned indifference, as if she had
brand new everything
every day.

Nerys and Anwen left the church, politely giving smiles and farewells to all that noticed them leaving
. Anwen felt their eyes boring into the back of her head. As they reached the church gate it began to spit, tiny raindrops from a grey cloudy sky carried on a cold wind.

Pulling their coats tighter they began the trudge home hoping the heavens wouldn’t open before they got indoors. ‘Well what do you think?’ Nerys asked as she huffed and puffed up the road.

‘I think they’re all horrible and Marcus is nothing to look at.’ Anwen stuck her chin in her coat and shoved her hands in the deep warm pockets.

‘A sweeping statement!’ Nerys panted
, trying to keep up with Anwen’s sure gait. ‘But do you think you can do it?’

‘Do what?’ Anwen demanded
. ‘Do I think I can stomach an evening with Marcus Harris-Snotty-Morgan? Do I think I can drag myself to church every Sunday? Do I think I can become one of
them
? No, no and no!’

‘It wasn’t that bad Anwen, and going to church once in a while is good for the soul
–’

‘Is it?’ Anwen snapped
. ‘Is it good for my soul to witness hypocrites pretending to be holier than thou? Is it good for my soul to have to smile at people I don’t care about, who I don’t even like?’

‘Anwen!’ Nerys was surprised at Anwen’s venom.

‘See this is why I don’t go to church!’ Anwen spun on her aunt. ‘I am a
good
person Aunt Nerys; I don’t steal, I don’t hurt people, I try and be kind, but them in there,’ she said, poking a finger in the direction of the church, ‘make me feel like I don’t measure up, that I’m a bad person, that I’m not good enough, and if that’s what Christianity does then you can keep it. I don’t have to go to church to be a good person, I am a good person, or at least I try to be.’ Anwen was incensed. ‘God can judge me, but they can’t, not Marcus, not his mother, only God. I’m not doing it, I’m not putting myself through it, I’m going to go home and tell Dad what I’ve done and be damned!’ She stormed off ahead of her aunt ignoring her calls to slow down and talk about it.

‘Anwen!
No-one is judging you!’ Nerys gasped, as she tried to catch up. ‘Anwen, wait and talk to me before you do something stupid!’

‘No!’ Anwen yelled back, ‘I’m done listening. I want to speak to my dad!’
She quickened her pace and began to canter towards home, icy raindrops lashed at her face, the wind tugging unkindly at her hair. Nerys could not hope to keep up, so she stopped to catch her breath, watching her niece run headlong into disaster.

Dafydd was just finishing off on the roof of the barn. He cautiously set his foot on the ladder
, careful not to slip on the rungs slick with rainwater. Looking out from his vantage point he noticed Anwen hurrying up the lane lengths ahead of Nerys.
Oh no
he thought
they’d fallen out again, just when they were getting on so well.

With a sigh he climbed down and set the ladder on its side to rest under the eaves to keep it as dry as possible before returning his tools to the inside of the barn and closing it
s heavy new doors.

Anwen arrived in the yard looking insubstantial and lost. Her shoulders were hunched and her head hung low like a battered dog. Her hair was soaked to her scalp and her face was ashen
. She looked terrified.

‘By god, Anwen,’ Dafydd said
, as he put a protective arm around her and led her into the house, ‘what on earth has happened to you?’

He helped take her coat off and pushed her gently into the kitchen where she stood shivering and gulping for breath. Dafydd was so worried,
what could have happened to reduce her to this
? He dragged a chair over by the Aga and sat his daughter down before fetching a blanket and covering her shoulders. He knelt down in front of her and wrapped her tiny hands in his calloused paws. ‘Now tell me Anwen, what’s the matter? Have you and Nerys had a fall out?’

Anwen tried to speak but her bottom lip trembled, her voice snagged in her throat and the tears began to fall. Nerys finally stormed into the kitchen
, her huge chest heaving, her face blotchy and red, her hair was no less soaked than Anwen’s.

‘What the hell happened?’ Dafydd demanded as he stood up to confront Nerys.

‘It’s probably best she tells you.’ Nerys spoke between gasps.