last of the mess from her plate.
‘Now can I go?’ she pleaded.
‘You may, though I don’t know why I bother to cook a decent meal when all you do is wolf your food and run. When I was a girl, my family made a point of conversing with one another at the table.’
Elizabeth almost smiled at the memory of her childhood. When she wasn’t consoling herself with thoughts of her teaching days, which time and nostalgia had endowed with a rosy hue that had little basis in reality, she sought comfort in inaccurate memories of her upbringing in the parsimonious home of her minister father.
Haydn Bull had, unfortunately for the emotional wellbeing of his daughter, disregarded the actual situation of his house, flock and purse, and elevated himself to the ranks of the middle classes.
Apart from the Leyshons who owned the brewery and lived in Danygraig House, the bleak, grey stone villa set in its own grounds below Graig Avenue, there had been no middle-class families on the Graig. And there were only a handful in Pontypridd to challenge Haydn Bull’s belief in his change of station.
The only tangible result of his adopted airs and graces was the further isolation of his family from the community, and a dwindling congregation in his chapel, which had pleased the Methodists if not the Baptist chapel elders.
Evan glanced despairingly at Elizabeth before leaving the table for his chair, which was to the right of the range facing the window. He delved under the cushion at his back and produced a copy of Gogol’s Dead Souls which he’d borrowed from the library.
Eddie finished his meal and carried the dishes through to the washhouse. Maud refilled the boiler, and Bethan left the room stopping to pick up the box from the front parlour as she went upstairs.
She switched the bedroom light on with her nose, set the jug down on the washstand and threw the box on to the bed, before walking over to the window to close the curtains. The rings grated uneasily over the rusting rod as she shut out the darkness.
Facing the wardrobe mirror she tore the veil from her head and looked in dismay at her hair. It clung, limp and lifeless to her head, as straight as a drowned cat’s tail. Grabbing the towel she rubbed it mercilessly between the rough ends of cloth until it frizzed out in an unbecoming halo.
‘Here, let me do that.’ Maud closed the door behind her and took the towel from Bethan’s hands.
‘I haven’t got time to set it!'
‘Yes, you have.’ Maud leaned over and opened one of the small drawers built around the dressing-table mirror. She took out a dozen viciously clipped metal wavers. Combing Bethan’s hair, she marked a parting and fingered a series of waves, clamping them firmly into the metal teeth. ‘That’s the two sides done.’ She surveyed her handiwork critically ‘and there’s six left for the back. You could tie a scarf over your head and leave them in until you get to the Coro,’ she suggested, referring to the Coronation ballroom, where the hospital ball was being held.
‘I could,’ Bethan agreed doubtfully. ‘But where would I put them? I can hardly cram them into my evening bag.’
‘Leave them in Ronnie’s’ van and pick them up on the way back. Mind you do. I need them for Saturday.’
‘Going to Ronconi’s cafe with the girls?’ Bethan raised her eyebrows.
‘And the boys,’ Maud replied disarmingly. ‘Right, that’s your hair finished.’
Bethan leapt up from the dressing table stool, and tried to unbutton her uniform dress and tip water into the bowl at the same time.
‘Shall I get your ringed velvet out of the wardrobe for you?’
‘No.’ Bethan nodded towards the bed.
‘Someone’s been to Auntie Megan’s,’ Maud sang out lifting the top off the box. She stared at the dress. ‘Bethan, it’s tremendous. Oooh, it’s real silk.’
‘Be an angel; get the underwear Auntie Megan gave me for Christmas. It’s in the top drawer of the dressing table. And the essence of
‘Now can I go?’ she pleaded.
‘You may, though I don’t know why I bother to cook a decent meal when all you do is wolf your food and run. When I was a girl, my family made a point of conversing with one another at the table.’
Elizabeth almost smiled at the memory of her childhood. When she wasn’t consoling herself with thoughts of her teaching days, which time and nostalgia had endowed with a rosy hue that had little basis in reality, she sought comfort in inaccurate memories of her upbringing in the parsimonious home of her minister father.
Haydn Bull had, unfortunately for the emotional wellbeing of his daughter, disregarded the actual situation of his house, flock and purse, and elevated himself to the ranks of the middle classes.
Apart from the Leyshons who owned the brewery and lived in Danygraig House, the bleak, grey stone villa set in its own grounds below Graig Avenue, there had been no middle-class families on the Graig. And there were only a handful in Pontypridd to challenge Haydn Bull’s belief in his change of station.
The only tangible result of his adopted airs and graces was the further isolation of his family from the community, and a dwindling congregation in his chapel, which had pleased the Methodists if not the Baptist chapel elders.
Evan glanced despairingly at Elizabeth before leaving the table for his chair, which was to the right of the range facing the window. He delved under the cushion at his back and produced a copy of Gogol’s Dead Souls which he’d borrowed from the library.
Eddie finished his meal and carried the dishes through to the washhouse. Maud refilled the boiler, and Bethan left the room stopping to pick up the box from the front parlour as she went upstairs.
She switched the bedroom light on with her nose, set the jug down on the washstand and threw the box on to the bed, before walking over to the window to close the curtains. The rings grated uneasily over the rusting rod as she shut out the darkness.
Facing the wardrobe mirror she tore the veil from her head and looked in dismay at her hair. It clung, limp and lifeless to her head, as straight as a drowned cat’s tail. Grabbing the towel she rubbed it mercilessly between the rough ends of cloth until it frizzed out in an unbecoming halo.
‘Here, let me do that.’ Maud closed the door behind her and took the towel from Bethan’s hands.
‘I haven’t got time to set it!'
‘Yes, you have.’ Maud leaned over and opened one of the small drawers built around the dressing-table mirror. She took out a dozen viciously clipped metal wavers. Combing Bethan’s hair, she marked a parting and fingered a series of waves, clamping them firmly into the metal teeth. ‘That’s the two sides done.’ She surveyed her handiwork critically ‘and there’s six left for the back. You could tie a scarf over your head and leave them in until you get to the Coro,’ she suggested, referring to the Coronation ballroom, where the hospital ball was being held.
‘I could,’ Bethan agreed doubtfully. ‘But where would I put them? I can hardly cram them into my evening bag.’
‘Leave them in Ronnie’s’ van and pick them up on the way back. Mind you do. I need them for Saturday.’
‘Going to Ronconi’s cafe with the girls?’ Bethan raised her eyebrows.
‘And the boys,’ Maud replied disarmingly. ‘Right, that’s your hair finished.’
Bethan leapt up from the dressing table stool, and tried to unbutton her uniform dress and tip water into the bowl at the same time.
‘Shall I get your ringed velvet out of the wardrobe for you?’
‘No.’ Bethan nodded towards the bed.
‘Someone’s been to Auntie Megan’s,’ Maud sang out lifting the top off the box. She stared at the dress. ‘Bethan, it’s tremendous. Oooh, it’s real silk.’
‘Be an angel; get the underwear Auntie Megan gave me for Christmas. It’s in the top drawer of the dressing table. And the essence of
Similar Books
