‘Will you be all right?’
‘I’ll be fine, cariad.’ Gwyneth gave a finger of toast to William. ‘Better here than there, see.’ When she glanced up her eyes were blurred with tears. ‘Can’t be there today, I’m sorry.’ She lifted the hem of her apron and dabbed at her face. ‘I’ll be thinking of you though.’
Mary nodded, pensive. ‘I know, love.’ They didn’t touch. Mary thought that if they did, if they hugged, they would both give way to the enormous flood of grief that was just held at bay. ‘Ellen, Jean and me should be back by three o’clock at the latest. The men are going to the pub afterwards. They’ve laid a spread on for them.’ Gwyneth was following an old Welsh tradition, strange, she thought, that only men should go to funerals. As though only they were strong enough to stand the grief in public. Gwyneth hadn’t even gone to Iori’s, her only son’s, funeral. How must she have felt that day? Mary felt a twinge of disbelief mixed with rebellion. No one could have kept her away from the service today. Tom was her brother. No one knew him as well as she did.
She stood at the back door, watching the two little girls skipping on Gwyneth’s path. ‘You’ll come in to us then?’ she said.
‘I will.’ Gwyneth sniffed loudly and forced a false smile at William. ‘We’ll have a little play, you and me, isn’t it?’ William laughed, arching his back in his high chair. She made a small wheezing noise as she lifted him out and set him on his feet.
‘Let me.’ Mary made a hasty move.
‘I’m fine. We’re fine.’ Gwyneth straightened up. ‘Now you’d better be off.’
This time Mary bent to kiss her. Gwyneth’s cheek was powdery soft. She smelt of lavender and carbolic soap. It always reminded Mary of Mam. ‘Don’t let them run you ragged,’ she said.
Gwyneth smiled. ‘They won’t.’
‘I’ll let myself out.’ She went to the door. ‘You two behave for Auntie Gwyneth.’
‘We will.’ Their voices subdued, the two girls stopped skipping and put their arms around each other. Linda’s face suddenly distorted and she started to cry. Jacqueline’s chin trembled as she fought against tears.
Oh no. Mary made to go to them but was stopped by Gwyneth’s hand on her arm. ‘I’ll see to them, cariad. You go.’
Mary stopped at the front door, the image of the two small girls still with her. They were upset now, but how much more were they going to be hurt when they returned to Ashford. ‘Oh Tom,’ she murmured looking up at the grey blanket of cloud above her, ‘it’s all such a mess. What am I going to do?’