A Million Tears Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mam put so much store by our education she would probably be the stumbling block. My heart sank. Mam was a formidable person if you tried to get her to change her mind.
    I heard Sion and Sian arriving downstairs, from the way the door slammed Sian was obviously last. I could hear their excited chatter and then they came bounding up the stairs. The door flew open and they burst into the room, talking at the same time.
    ‘Uncle James . . .’
    ‘He gave me some bamboo . . .’
    ‘When he finishes the house . . .’
    ‘I’ll have the best kite I’ve ever . . .’
    ‘All my friends will eat their hearts out . . .’
    ‘I bet I could make it fly for . . .’
    ‘And they all said we were silly to bother with an old man . . .’
    ‘Hey, take it easy,’ I said. ‘You had a nice time, did you?’
    ‘He’s really very nice,’ said Sian solemnly. ‘I mean, not just because he’s going to make me a doll’s house. He just is. Do you know he cooks his own biscuits? And they’re very nice too.’
    ‘Yeah, I had four of them,’ said Sion proudly, grinning at the memory.
    ‘Yes, the piggy. He would have taken a fifth if I hadn’t kicked him.’ Coming from Sian that was about the funniest thing I had heard in a long time. It probably meant she could eat no more and so Sion was not allowed to either.
    ‘Huh, you didn’t do so badly,’ said Sion more or less confirming what I thought.
    After I sneezed a few more times they left. Not so much from an understanding of spreading germs as a desire to go and play a while longer before bed. I felt a bit lonely by myself but soon Mam came up with the supper. There was boiled cabbage, green beans and potatoes from the allotment. We had our main Sunday meal in the evening, not at midday, because Mam had more time to cook, as she never went to evening chapel. Prayers twice a day was sufficient for her.
     
    On Monday morning I felt better, which would mean I had to go to school the next day. I thought idly about pretending to be worse than I actually was but then remembered the last time. Mam had fed me a dose of cod liver oil every hour until I announced I was much better. ‘I thought so,’ had been her reply.
    Sian made jokes about me being lazy, spending my life in bed, and missing school. I just scowled because they were exactly the words I had used a few months earlier when the twins had been down with flu. Sian had been a terrible patient, always demanding something, from a drink, a pencil or her potty emptied. When we were ill, we were not allowed out to the back toilet. Instead we used the chamber pot as Sian insisted on calling it when she learned those were the “posh” words for it.
    I read for a while and must have dozed. The next thing I knew was Mam bringing in some broth. As she handed it to me the bells started ringing. We looked at each other, puzzled for a few seconds. The bells only rang on Sundays and . . . and ‘Oh God, no,’ said Mam, the blood draining from her face, leaving it chalk white.
    We waited for the siren from the mine, telling us there had been an accident. It was a strict community rule. The bells only rang on Sundays. There was something wrong though. We usually heard the siren first and then the bells. Where was the siren? Perhaps there had not been an accident after all, but then what? The vicar knew better than to ring them for any other reason. Any other reason . . .
    I jumped out of bed and began pulling on my clothes. ‘Come on Mam, something’s happened. We must find out what.’

3

    The street was filling with people stumbling hastily from their homes. Night shift miners were wiping the sleep from their eyes, women were drying hands, tying scarves around their heads or struggling into coats. Nobody moved. The villagers were like statues, standing looking at each other, wondering. Then Mam pushed past me and headed for the chapel. The villagers started walking in the same direction. God help the vicar if the bells had been