it.
Thinking of his grandparents led him to wonder if they knew about his real parents. Being in doubt about his real father and mother gave him a lost feeling, like a dream about falling from a height. If he had been told lies about that, he might have been misled about anything.
He decided he would question Granda and Grandmam. He could do it today, as it was Sunday. As soon as he could decently excuse himself from the mess, he walked downhill to Wellington Row.
It occurred to him that if he asked them outright whether he was Maud’s son they might simply deny everything point-blank. Perhaps a more gradual approach would be more likely to elicit information.
He found them sitting in their kitchen. To them Sunday was the Lord’s Day, devoted to religion, and they would not read newspapers or listen to the radio. But they were pleased to see him, and Grandmam made tea, as always.
Lloyd began: ‘I wish I knew more about my real father. Mam says that Teddy Williams was in the Welsh Rifles, did you know that?’
Grandmam said: ‘Oh, why do you want to go digging up the past? Bernie’s your father.’
Lloyd did not contradict her. ‘Bernie Leckwith has been everything a father should be to me.’
Granda nodded. ‘A Jew, but a good man, there’s no doubt.’ He imagined he was being magnanimously tolerant.
Lloyd let it pass. ‘All the same, I’m curious. Did you meet Teddy Williams?’
Granda looked angry. ‘No,’ he said. ‘And it was a sorrow to us.’
Grandmam said: ‘He came to Ty Gwyn as a valet to a guest. We never knew your mother was sweet on him till she went to London to marry him.’
‘Why didn’t you go to the wedding?’
They were both silent. Then Granda said: ‘Tell him the truth, Cara. No good ever comes of lies.’
‘Your mother yielded to temptation,’ Grandmam said. ‘After the valet left Ty Gwyn, she found she was with child.’ Lloyd had suspected that, and thought it might account for her evasiveness. ‘Your Granda was very angry,’ Grandmam added.
‘Too angry,’ Granda said. ‘I forgot that Jesus said: “Judge not, that ye be not judged.” Her sin was lust, but mine was pride.’ Lloyd was astonished to see tears in his grandfather’s pale-blue eyes. ‘God forgave her, but I didn’t, not for a long time. By then my son-in-law was dead, killed in France.’
Lloyd was more bewildered than before. Here was another detailed story, somewhat different from what he had been told by his mother and completely different from Daisy’s theory. Was Granda weeping for a son-in-law who had never existed?
He persisted. ‘And the family of Teddy Williams? Mam said he came from Swansea. He probably had parents, brothers and sisters . . .’
Grandmam said: ‘Your mother never talked about his family. I think she was ashamed. Whatever the reason, she didn’t want to know them. And it wasn’t our place to go against her in that.’
‘But I might have two more grandparents in Swansea. And uncles and aunts and cousins I’ve never met.’
‘Aye,’ said Granda. ‘But we don’t know.’
‘My mother knows, though.’
‘I suppose she does.’
‘I’ll ask her, then,’ said Lloyd.
Daisy was in love.
She knew, now, that she had never loved anyone before Lloyd. She had never truly loved Boy, though she had been excited by him. As for poor Charlie Farquharson, she had been at most fond of him. She had believed that love was something she could bestow upon whomever she liked, and that her main responsibility was to choose cleverly. Now she knew that was all wrong. Cleverness had nothing to do with it, and she had no choice. Love was an earthquake.
Life was empty but for the two hours she spent with Lloyd each evening. The rest of the day was anticipation; the night was recollection.
Lloyd was the pillow she put her cheek on. He was the towel with which she patted her breasts when she got out of the bathtub. He was the knuckle she put into her mouth and sucked thoughtfully.
How could she have ignored him for four years? The love of her life had appeared before her at the Trinity Ball, and she had noticed only that he appeared to be wearing someone else’s dress clothes! Why had she not taken him in her arms and kissed him and insisted they get married immediately?
He had known all along, she surmised. He must have fallen in love with her from the start. He had begged her to throw Boy over. ‘Give him up,’ he had said the night they went to the Gaiety music hall. ‘Be my girlfriend instead.’ And she had laughed at him. But he had seen the truth to which she had been blind.
However, some intuition deep within her had told her to kiss him, there on the Mayfair pavement in the darkness between two street lights. At the time she had regarded it as a self-indulgent whim; but, in fact, it was the smartest thing she had ever done, for it had probably sealed his devotion.
