The Earth Hums in B Flat by Mari Strachan Page A

the table. I don’t want to use the board in case Mam hasn’t washed all the blood from it. The butter is too cold to spread and makes holes in the bread. I begin to slice the loaf, anyway. Nice, thin slices, only a little bit lacy. I cut the red cheese and nibble a sliver of it. It’s tangy and salty and makes my hunger growl like John Morris in my stomach.
    â€˜Can’t you do anything right?’ Mam comes into the scullery and takes the knife from me. ‘You’re not making a tea party.’ She cuts thick pieces from the loaf. ‘Get that jar of pickled onions down. They’re going a bit soft; we may as well finish them.’
    â€˜That’s because you didn’t salt the onions first,’ I say.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Nain says you have to salt the onions if you don’t want them going soft.’
    â€˜Right,’ says Mam. ‘Sit on that stool and listen to me.’
    I put a thin slice of bread and some cheese and a large pickled onion on a plate and begin to eat. The vinegar on the pickled onion is too sharp because Mam didn’t put the right spices in with it. That’s what Nain said, but I don’t tell Mam. I wipe the vinegar off where it drips down my chin.
    â€˜I’ve been out all morning, working my fingers to the bone for you,’ says Mam.
    â€˜And for Bethan,’ I say.
    â€˜To earn money to buy a nice house with a proper kitchen and a bathroom for you.’
    â€˜I like this house,’ I say. ‘I like living here.’ I take another thin slice of bread. The butter must have been icy when I spread it on this slice. I roll up the bread instead of folding it so I can’t see the holes.
    â€˜You don’t like having a bath in front of the fire and sharing a bed with Bethan, do you?’
    â€˜I suppose not. Will I have a room of my own in the new house, then?’
    Mam’s eyes flicker sideways. ‘Yes, of course you will,’ she says, then she glares at me again. ‘And what thanks do I get for slaving away for you? People telling me about your antics all the way home.’
    I swallow my last piece of cheese and cut some more, thinly. ‘But what did I do wrong, Mam?’
    â€˜Drawing attention to yourself again, that’s what. Giving people a reason to say you’re odd.’
    â€˜But I can’t ask questions like a detective without people noticing me. And I’m only trying to find Ifan Evans.’
    Mam’s hands are gnawing away at each other like mice eating cheese. Her face is tight and her voice is taut as Mr Pugh’s cheese wire. ‘You shouldn’t be asking anyone any questions at all about him. He’ll come back when he’s ready. Elin Evans has only herself to blame. So prim and proper. No wonder he had to get away. Leave him be.’ Mam starts picking at the loaf of bread, rolling the dough into little balls between her fingers.
    â€˜If I’m going to be a detective,’ I say, ‘I’ve got to practise.’ And what if Ifan Evans is never ready to come back?
    â€˜I don’t know where you get your silly ideas from,’ says Mam. ‘I blame Aunty Lol for giving you all those books.’ She bangs the table and makes me and the bread leap. ‘You’re meddling in things you’re too young to understand.’
    â€˜Anyway,’ I say, ‘you said Bethan was too young to be going out with boys but she’s still got a boyfriend.’
    â€˜Don’t be silly,’ says Mam.
    â€˜I’m not being silly,’ I say. ‘Richard is her boyfriend. Caroline’s brother. Alwenna says she goes to see him, not to play with Caroline.’
    â€˜That Alwenna has no shame,’ says Mam. ‘She ought to wash her mouth with soap.’
    â€˜That’s what Miss Hughes said when Alwenna asked when the baby was due.’ I don’t tell her what Alwenna said about the baby’s father.
    Mam covers her mouth