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Bernie patted him on the shoulder, an awkward but genuine gesture of affection.
Lloyd made his voice insistent. "But I'm curious about Teddy Williams."
Billy said: "We need to talk about the future, not the past--we're at war."
"Exactly," said Lloyd. "So I want answers to my questions now. I'm not willing to wait, because I will be going into battle soon, and I don't want to die in ignorance." He did not see how they could deny that argument.
Ethel said: "You know all there is to know," but she was not meeting his eye.
"No, I don't," he said, forcing himself to be patient. "Where are my other grandparents? Do I have uncles and aunts and cousins?"
"Teddy Williams was an orphan," Ethel said.
"Raised in what orphanage?"
She said irritably: "Why are you so stubborn?"
Lloyd allowed his voice to rise in reciprocal annoyance. "Because I'm like you!"
Bernie could not repress a grin. "That's true, anyway."
Lloyd was not amused. "What orphanage?"
"He might have told me, but I don't remember. In Cardiff, I think."
Billy intervened. "You're touching a sore place, now, Lloyd, boy. Drink your beer and drop the subject."
Lloyd said angrily: "I've got a bloody sore place, too, Uncle Billy, thank you very much, and I'm fed up with lies."
"Now, now," said Bernie. "Let's not have talk of lies."
"I'm sorry, Dad, but it's got to be said." Lloyd held up a hand to stave off interruption. "Last time I asked, Mam told me Teddy Williams's family came from Swansea but they moved around a lot because of his father's job. Now she says he was raised in an orphanage in Cardiff. One of those stories is a lie--if not both."
At last Ethel looked him in the eye. "Me and Bernie fed you and clothed you and sent you to school and university," she said indignantly. "You've got nothing to complain about."
"And I'll always be grateful to you, and I'll always love you," Lloyd said.
Billy said: "Why have this come up now, anyhow?"
"Because of something somebody said to me in Aberowen."
His mother did not respond, but there was a flash of fear in her eyes. Someone in Wales knows the truth, Lloyd thought.
He went on relentlessly: "I was told that perhaps Maud Fitzherbert fell pregnant in 1914, and her baby was passed off as yours, for which you were rewarded with the house in Nutley Street."
Ethel made a scornful noise.
Lloyd held up a hand. "That would explain two things," he said. "One, the unlikely friendship between you and Lady Maud." He reached into his jacket pocket. "Two, this picture of me in side-whiskers." He showed them the photograph.
Ethel stared at the picture without speaking.
Lloyd said: "It could be me, couldn't it?"
Billy said testily: "Yes, Lloyd, it could. But obviously it's not, so stop mucking about and tell us who it is."
"It's Earl Fitzherbert's father. Now you stop mucking about, Uncle Billy, and you, Mam. Am I Maud's son?"
Ethel said: "The friendship between me and Maud was a political alliance, foremost. It was broken off when we disagreed about strategy for suffragettes, then resumed later. I like her a lot, and she gave me important chances in life, but there is no secret bond. She doesn't know who your father is."
