‘Come on then, little chap.’ He stands, trying to sound confident. His hands close around the baby’s sides, and he feels the tiny case of ribs under the slip and slide of the satin. The two women grin at him. He settles the baby into the crook of his arm.
‘Look how relaxed he is!’ Gloria says.
‘Sit down with him’ – Ruth looks eager – ‘he might drop off.’
Carefully, William settles back into the seat, feels the weight of the miniature body relax in his arms, watches the eyelids, slower and heavier with each blink. Everyone else is standing and he’s aware of other guests smiling down at him. He concentrates on the baby, the adults now on the periphery of his vision.
A golden flicker at the edge of his left eye is the only warning, seconds before his body jolts at the certainty that the baby is dead. He struggles to stand, holding it with both hands. He shouts and the baby wakes. But how? It’s dead, and all these people, all these parents are waiting for him. He must do it quickly, before it starts to decompose! He tries to run through the crowd. There’s a cry of anguish. The baby is being pulled from his arms by an angry man. The father wants the body, but William mustn’t give it to him! He tightens his grip on the screaming baby. He must get to work!
‘William! William! Let go of the baby!’
Gloria. Her arms round him. Someone’s sobbing. Where’s the baby? The line of parents stare at him.
‘All right now?’ she asks, searching his face.
The film of sweat cools on his forehead. The cul-de-sac is full of parked cars. They lean on their bonnet in silence. The fresh air helps bring him back to himself, his surroundings. Her hand on his shoulder is gentle and so is her voice, but he senses she’s angry.
‘Get in the other side. I’ll drive, but not yet,’ Gloria says, soft but firm, slipping her hand in his jacket pocket for the keys. ‘I’ve got things to say and you need to hear.’
Once in the car, he stares through the windscreen, exhausted. A gust of wind whistles through the air vent.
‘They must hate me.’
‘No.’
‘Course they do. At least now they’ll know I’m right about not wanting children.’
She twists urgently in her seat towards him. Her eyes are fierce and full of intent. They stare at each other for a moment, him braced against what’s to come. Then her breath heaves in and out and she turns back to look out of the windscreen. ‘I have never told anyone why we haven’t got children’ – she speaks quietly now – ‘but you know what really pisses me off? Not that you don’t want children, or wake up screaming. Do you think I could love anyone as much as I love you – who wouldn’t be touched by the horror of what you saw?’
‘What then?’ he asks, just wanting to get home and sleep.
‘That you don’t have to put up with this. It’s one thing in our home, our bedroom, but William, you scared me today. You could have hurt the baby.’ Her voice wobbles. ‘I just know there’s help out there.’
‘I won’t let it happen again. Clearly, I’m not safe with children.’
‘Yeah, you tell yourself that.’
The unfamiliar tone of sarcasm gets his attention. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re scared of getting help, because of what else it will uncover. This isn’t just about Aberfan.’
‘Here we go.’
Gloria shakes her head, laughs an unpleasant laugh. He unwinds the window.
‘What drives me crazy,’ she says, ‘is that you can’t bear anything to be more than one story. You’ve blighted our marriage because you say you couldn’t bear to suffer like those poor parents of Aberfan. Well, you know what? You’re a bloody hypocrite.’
He didn’t expect an attack. She’s normally so gentle after an episode. A cat strolls onto the pavement and flops down into a plank of sunshine. Physically depleted, all he can do is stare at it.
‘You’ve been inflicting pain every day for years. On your own mother.’ She shakes her head. ‘You can choose not to be a father, but you can’t choose to stop being a son and she can’t ever stop being a mother.’ A couple are leaving the christening. They glance at the car, then, heads down and hands loosely clasped, they walk quickly towards their Morris Minor. ‘You think you’re this wounded, bleeding heart, but really, you’re a tyrant who hurts everyone who gets close to you.’ She waits. ‘Well?’ Her voice is sharp. ‘Have you got anything to say?’