Shoes for Anthony by Emma Kennedy

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