Shoes for Anthony by Emma Kennedy Page B

his sandwich, pulls it out, reads it. It says, “I hope you choke on it, you bastard!”’ He let out a loud laugh.
    â€˜No!’ said Mam, sitting in her usual spot in the parlour, unravelling the never-ending jumper.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Who?’ said Mam, frowning.
    â€˜Dunno. But her fella’s away fighting, ain’t he?’
    â€˜No way to behave.’ Mam tutted and shook her head.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜You off out?’ asked Emrys, seeing Bethan reaching for her coat.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Right, then,’ said Emrys, opening the front door, ‘let’s get going. What’s the film, anyway?’
    â€˜Dunno,’ I said, turning to follow him.
    â€˜Better not be none of your soppy nonsense, Bethan. If it is, I shall snore loudly and show you right up.’
    Bethan gave him a sharp stare. ‘Good, I like you better when you’re asleep.’
    The Gaiety was our local fleapit: fourpence wooden seats at the front, sixpence cushy seats towards the back. Before the war, the picture house frontage had been lit up with grand announcements, but I was too young to remember all that. Instead, there was a board with a poster on that came with that week’s reel. The one for
Double Indemnity
had Barbara Stanwyck sitting in a chair with her leg in the air. It caused a bit of a to-do, as lots of mams thought it was racey. I liked it.
    The poster on display was for that night’s film –
A Canterbury Tale
. It didn’t give much away, just three faces, two men and a woman set against a rolling green field. A dark figure lurked at the bottom. Couldn’t make out what he was.
    â€˜Look at that lot,’ said Emrys, nodding towards a group of boys round Thomas Evans’ wheelchair. ‘Like they’ve struck gold, or