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"Ah, pity. "
"He was a Mr. Williams, so I didn't have to change my name. "
This story would go all around the town. Some would question whether there really had been a Mr. Williams and if he had actually married Ethel. It did not matter whether they believed her. A woman who pretended to be married was acceptable; a mother who admitted to being single was a brazen hussy. The people of Aberowen had their principles.
Mrs. Griffiths said: "When are you going to see your mam?"
Ethel did not know how her parents would react to her. They might throw her out again, they might forgive everything, or they might find some way of condemning her sin without banishing her from their sight. "I dunno," she said. "I'm nervous. "
Mrs. Griffiths looked sympathetic. "Aye, well, your da can be a Tartar. He loves you, though. "
"People always think that. Your father loves you really, they say. But if he can throw me out of the house I don't know why it's called love. "
"People do things in haste, when their pride is hurt," Mrs. Griffiths said soothingly. "Specially men. "
Ethel stood up. "Well, no point in putting it off, I suppose. " She scooped Lloyd up from the floor. "Come here, my lovely. Time you found out you've got grandparents. "
"Good luck," said Mrs. Griffiths.
The Williams house was only a few doors away. Ethel was hoping her father would be out. That way she could at least have some time with her mother, who was less harsh.
She thought of knocking at the door, then decided that would be ridiculous, so she walked straight in.
She entered the kitchen where she had spent so many of her days. Neither of her parents was there, but Gramper was dozing in his chair. He opened his eyes, looked puzzled, then said warmly: "It's our Eth!"
"Hello, Gramper. "
He stood up and came to her. He had become more frail: he leaned on the table just to cross the little room. He kissed her cheek and turned his attention to the baby. "Well, now, who is this?" he said with delight. "Could it be my first great-grandchild?"
"This is Lloyd," said Ethel.
"What a fine name!"
Lloyd hid his face in Ethel's shoulder. "He's shy," she said.
"Ah, he's scared of the strange old man with the white mustache. He'll get used to me. Sit down, my lovely, and tell me all about everything. "
"Where's our mam?"
"Gone down the Co-op for a tin of jam. " The local grocery was a cooperative store, sharing profits among its customers. Such shops were popular in South Wales, although no one knew how to pronounce co-op, variations ranging from cop to quorp. "She'll be back now in a minute. "
Ethel put Lloyd on the floor. He began to explore the room, going unsteadily from one handhold to the next, a bit like Gramper. Ethel talked about her job as manager of The Soldier's Wife: working with the printer, distributing the bundles of newspapers, collecting unsold copies, getting people to place advertisements. Gramper wondered how she knew what to do, and she admitted that she and Maud just made it up as they went along. She found the printer difficult-he did not like taking instructions from women-but she was good at selling advertising space. While they talked, Gramper took off his watch chain and dangled it from his hand, not looking at Lloyd. The child stared at the bright chain, then reached for it. Gramper let him grab it. Soon Lloyd was leaning on Gramper's knees for support while he investigated the watch.
Ethel felt strange in the old house. She had imagined it would be comfortably familiar, like a pair of boots that have taken the shape of the feet that have worn them for years. But in fact she was vaguely uneasy. It seemed more like the home of familiar old neighbors. She kept looking at the faded samplers with their tired biblical verses and wondering why her mother had not changed them in decades. She did not feel that this was her place.
"Have you heard anything from our Billy?" she asked Gramper.
"No, have you?"
"Not since he left for France. "
"I should think he's in this big battle by the river Somme. "
"I hope not. They say it's bad. "
"Aye, terrible, if you believe the rumors. "
Rumors were all people had, for newspaper accounts were cheerfully vague. But many of the wounded were back in British hospitals, and their bloodcurdling accounts of incompetence and slaughter were passed from mouth to mouth.
