not meeting my eye.
'But what causes it? Is it the children?' I asked.
She didn't look up from the magazine. 'We don't ask. We don't talk about it. If you're planning on staying, you won't either.'
I smiled at her. 'Well, perhaps someone should find out.'
'I think you've got enough on your plate. With the baby and all,' she said, sourly.
'The problem—' I countered, and then stopped.
Don't be rude, Gwen Cooper, don't be bloody rude.
No, sod it. The problem with this place is that no one asks. There's so much wrong, but you just accept what's happening. This village has suffered a terrible tragedy - it's not just that you've got no kids. It's that you've stopped asking why. It's that you've got these... creatures. And you don't even know what they are.'
'No.' Sasha had closed the magazine and was gripping her mug, her hands tight round the capering penguin. We don't know. But they're what we've got. They're all we've got. So we get on with it.
You wouldn't know. Look at all you have. But you're not just smug about it - you are judging us. Just cos you're fertile doesn't give you the right to act like you're BETTER. You've just got a bloody baby, that's all.'
What about yours?' I asked. 'You have got a child of your own, yeah?'
'Billy,' she shrugged, dismissively. 'He's... he's fine. He's 15. I'm 24. He's been my kid for three years.
And he's always been like that. Not growing up. We don't bother with birthdays. Ever since I opened the door that morning and he was stood there. "Hello mother." Those were his first words.' She scowled.
When he bloody came in he asked if there was anything he could help with. Any cleaning, or tidying, or if I would like a cup of bloody tea. Didn't even ask if he could come in. Davydd just let him. I didn't want him and there was no getting rid of him.' She stopped and her eyes were fixed on a patch of artex over the fake mantelpiece. She stared at it harder and harder and I realised she was trying not to cry. 'Davydd was fine about it... but then he's always been bloody fine about it. Don't think he even wanted kids that much.
He'd have coped all right, yeah. He just wanted them cos I wanted them. Anything for a quiet life. And he gets a kid that gives him a quiet life. That doesn't play up, or answer back, that does its own washing.
That clears up after itself. That never gets ill or stays out late. Billy plays on the Xbox with him. But never beats him at it. Oh, Davydd's never spotted that bit. Stupid boy.' The last bit was said fondly.
She tugged at the necklace round her throat. 'He's just relieved. That I've got something a bit like a kid. That'll keep me happy. It's close enough for him.
Like when Davydd tried to put up shelves. "Only a bit wonky, soon settle down," he said. But it's a child... a child...' She stopped again. 'What can you know?' she said finally.
Anwen started to cry again. She was glaring at me. I knew what that look meant.
'Listen,' I said, feeling awkward. 'She needs a feed. Can I use your bathroom?'
Sasha picked up the magazine. 'No, no, do it here.
Dim problem.'
I fed Anwen. Sasha sitting in stony silence, glaring at me. The magazine was held in front of her, but she wasn't reading it. She was just watching me feed my baby. A tear formed, ran down her cheek, and hit the paper with a bang.
'What am I like?' she cried, standing up. She snatched the mugs off the table, emptied them down the sink, ran them quickly under the cold tap then banged them down on the draining board. She stood over the sink, staring out of the window.
Rhys
I dreamed.
'So when do we get to see her?' My mother's voice boomed down the phone.
'Ah...' I said.
We're ever so excited,' she gushed, clearly not hearing the panic in my voice. 'A granddaughter!
We've got her a teddy.' A pause. 'That is, if Gwen approves of teddies.'
My mother has never quite accepted or understood Gwen. I sometimes wonder who my mother would have considered suitable, but it's definitely never
'But what causes it? Is it the children?' I asked.
She didn't look up from the magazine. 'We don't ask. We don't talk about it. If you're planning on staying, you won't either.'
I smiled at her. 'Well, perhaps someone should find out.'
'I think you've got enough on your plate. With the baby and all,' she said, sourly.
'The problem—' I countered, and then stopped.
Don't be rude, Gwen Cooper, don't be bloody rude.
No, sod it. The problem with this place is that no one asks. There's so much wrong, but you just accept what's happening. This village has suffered a terrible tragedy - it's not just that you've got no kids. It's that you've stopped asking why. It's that you've got these... creatures. And you don't even know what they are.'
'No.' Sasha had closed the magazine and was gripping her mug, her hands tight round the capering penguin. We don't know. But they're what we've got. They're all we've got. So we get on with it.
You wouldn't know. Look at all you have. But you're not just smug about it - you are judging us. Just cos you're fertile doesn't give you the right to act like you're BETTER. You've just got a bloody baby, that's all.'
What about yours?' I asked. 'You have got a child of your own, yeah?'
'Billy,' she shrugged, dismissively. 'He's... he's fine. He's 15. I'm 24. He's been my kid for three years.
And he's always been like that. Not growing up. We don't bother with birthdays. Ever since I opened the door that morning and he was stood there. "Hello mother." Those were his first words.' She scowled.
When he bloody came in he asked if there was anything he could help with. Any cleaning, or tidying, or if I would like a cup of bloody tea. Didn't even ask if he could come in. Davydd just let him. I didn't want him and there was no getting rid of him.' She stopped and her eyes were fixed on a patch of artex over the fake mantelpiece. She stared at it harder and harder and I realised she was trying not to cry. 'Davydd was fine about it... but then he's always been bloody fine about it. Don't think he even wanted kids that much.
He'd have coped all right, yeah. He just wanted them cos I wanted them. Anything for a quiet life. And he gets a kid that gives him a quiet life. That doesn't play up, or answer back, that does its own washing.
That clears up after itself. That never gets ill or stays out late. Billy plays on the Xbox with him. But never beats him at it. Oh, Davydd's never spotted that bit. Stupid boy.' The last bit was said fondly.
She tugged at the necklace round her throat. 'He's just relieved. That I've got something a bit like a kid. That'll keep me happy. It's close enough for him.
Like when Davydd tried to put up shelves. "Only a bit wonky, soon settle down," he said. But it's a child... a child...' She stopped again. 'What can you know?' she said finally.
Anwen started to cry again. She was glaring at me. I knew what that look meant.
'Listen,' I said, feeling awkward. 'She needs a feed. Can I use your bathroom?'
Sasha picked up the magazine. 'No, no, do it here.
Dim problem.'
I fed Anwen. Sasha sitting in stony silence, glaring at me. The magazine was held in front of her, but she wasn't reading it. She was just watching me feed my baby. A tear formed, ran down her cheek, and hit the paper with a bang.
'What am I like?' she cried, standing up. She snatched the mugs off the table, emptied them down the sink, ran them quickly under the cold tap then banged them down on the draining board. She stood over the sink, staring out of the window.
Rhys
I dreamed.
'So when do we get to see her?' My mother's voice boomed down the phone.
'Ah...' I said.
We're ever so excited,' she gushed, clearly not hearing the panic in my voice. 'A granddaughter!
We've got her a teddy.' A pause. 'That is, if Gwen approves of teddies.'
My mother has never quite accepted or understood Gwen. I sometimes wonder who my mother would have considered suitable, but it's definitely never
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