‘Have you got yourself a man yet then, Evelyne?’
She flushed and bit her lip, and he laughed softly with his little lopsided smile and slightly raised eyebrows.
‘Did you ever go to an inn close by Cydwinath Farm? When we last met I thought I’d seen you before, a long time ago.’
Evelyne shook her head.
‘Oh, it wasn’t you, huh? See, first I saw this girl in a field — like a mermaid she was, and dressed in naught but her shift — and then I saw her again, a big society dance, it was.’ He gave her his strange half-smile, his eyes twinkling, ‘I was standing in the dark and it was as if she was lit up by the moon, like a moment of magic. It was a mermaid again, only, only this time she was a princess in a flowing gown, and she was dancing with an old fella with white hair, there on the lawn with not a soul to see but me.’
Evelyne stopped and bit her lip so hard her teeth almost went straight through. He looked down into her face and cupped her chin in his hand.
‘I was never at a dance, and most certainly not at any farm in my shift, and I find it very ungentlemanly of you even to suggest it.’
Again he laughed, and he did a small jig then bowed low. She knew he was laughing at her, and she almost — just almost — laughed at herself.
They were coming closer and closer to the edge of the village and could see the lights twinkling from the houses. The track was smoother here and soon they would be on the cobbles leading to the main street. Freedom still walked at her side. All she needed now was for someone to see her — pray God it would not be Mrs Morgan or it would be all round the village by ten o’clock next morning. As if he could read her thoughts he stopped, bowed again, and without another word made to move away. This time Evelyne caught hold of his arm. ‘Don’t be a fool, mun, don’t fight, don’t let them arrest you, get away from here.’
Freedom’s eyes went darker than dark, and his voice was soft but cutting, ‘My people depend on the fight for their living. Money is scarce all round, but no scarcer than with us travellers.’
Evelyne told him angrily that his people would be a lot worse off if he were put in prison, which would certainly happen if the people arrested him. He turned on his heel, swishing at the air with the stick. ‘They’ll have to find me first.’
Evelyne let herself in by the back door. She was greeted by an irate Hugh who was worried stiff about her being so late and not letting him know where she was, and they had an argument for the first time in years. She accused him of not letting her know about his friendship with Gladys, a stupid, simpering woman if ever there was one. The stinging slap from Hugh shocked her and she lifted her fist to go for him, but he held her too tight.
‘You’ll take that back, you’ll not say those things about her, it’s jealous you are, girl, jealous, you who’s too bound up in your books and readin’ to find yourself a decent lad. They’re all laughin’ at you an’ callin’ you Doris behind your back. And by God, girl, you’ve got like her, with your mouth always turned down and your nose never out of paper!’
Evelyne countered this by telling Hugh he was behaving like a foolish eighteen-year-old, and making himself the laughing stock of the village with that Gladys. And as for her nephew! He was a pig-eyed, sweaty, revolting youth, it ran in the family. Wallop! She got another stinging blow and she backed away, scared; she had not seen Hugh so angry for such a long time.
Hugh started on about David — all that show about her going to Cardiff to find the boy she loved, the boy of her dreams. It must have been all fantasy because she came back with a face like a nun’s, and a tongue so sharp no one could speak to her.
‘What happened, Evie? Did he turn you down? Can you blame him, look at you, you act like an old woman … dear God, gel, what are we doing, what are we saying? Come here, for the Lord’s sake, come here.’
Evelyne went into her father’s arms as if he were a long-lost lover. He held her, rocking her, kissing her hair, her neck, and saying sweet, soft things, taking back everything he had just said. She found herself kissing him back, she was so in need of love, so in need of physical contact that she was bursting inside. They were held suspended, staring into one another’s eyes.
The crash of the door-knocker brought them round, and Gladys’ voice, high-pitched and hysterical. Hugh let her in. It was Willie, he’d not been home since tea, and now it was one in the morning and she was worried stiff. No one seemed to know where he was.
On hearing that Willie was missing, Evelyne said that he had gone to the picture house to see the jazz film. ‘Perhaps he met a girl there, Da? Wait, I’ll come with you.’
She ran down the street after Hugh and Gladys, who were calling out Willie’s name along the way. Lights were coming on in the houses, heads popped out of windows. Soon there was a trail of people behind them, like the children following the Pied Piper, everyone looking for Willie. Evelyne’s heart hammered in her chest… ‘Dear God,’ she prayed, ‘let him have met someone and gone walking.’ Anything but what she dreaded.
Gladys began to shiver with cold and Evelyne took off her greatcoat and slipped it round Gladys’ shoulders, forgetting the newspaper clippings in the pocket.
By the time they reached the picture house the village bobby was wobbling along beside them on his bike. Evan Evans asked over and over what the fuss was about and slowly pieced the story together in his thick brain. ‘The lad’s missing, is that so? We’ll get a search party out.’
‘What the hell do you think this is, mun? That’s what we’re doing.’
The manager of the cinema, Billy Jones, lived in the house next to it. They woke him by hammering on his door.
‘All right, I’m comin’, I’m comin’ …’ He stood on the doorstep in his dressing-gown as they explained the problem to him, then fetched a torch and a huge bunch of keys. With everyone rushing him he had trouble finding the right keys to open the door. He took so long that Hugh wanted to belt him.
‘There was not a soul left in the theatre, I’m telling you, unless he went to the gents’.’
Gladys, panicking now, wanted to know if Billy had definitely seen Willie.
‘Yes I did, he was here nine o’clock just before the start of the film, It’s the Jazz, Man — best houses I’ve had for weeks.’
Eventually he got the door open and they spilled into the auditorium, calling for Willie.
‘Now, everyone, keep back, this is police work.’
Ignoring Evan Evans, Hugh bellowed for Willie, while Billy tried to light the gas lamps.
‘Which bugger’s got me torch? I can’t see to light the lamps.’
As they walked around peering along the rows of seats, the lights came on. Billy, up on a ladder, looked down and screamed hysterically, pointing. Hugh pushed his way through to where Billy was pointing, looked for a moment and then turned, ‘Stay back, Gladys, Evie. Don’t come up here, any of you … Evan, get the doctor.’
Gladys screamed and screamed, then fainted in a heap at Evan’s feet. Evelyne moved cautiously between the seats.
‘Aw, Christ almighty … Holy Mother of God …’
Willie lay between the seats. Blood from an open wound on his neck had formed a thick, dark pool which had already congealed. It was obvious from his open, staring eyes that he was dead.
Next morning the village was in an uproar. There’d not been a murder since 1905 when Taffy Ryse hammered his mother’s head in, but then he was funny upstairs. Who would have wanted to kill Willie? They could all understand why Taffy had beaten his mother to death, she had been a right bitch, but Willie?
Doc Clock was limping badly from yet another car accident, and he was also getting old. He examined Willie’s body and muttered that he was dead all right, which got everybody shouting at once that they’d already told the soft bugger he was dead — what they wanted to know was when it had happened. Doc Clock shrugged.
‘How the bloody hell do I know — I’ve not been to the pictures since last year.’
Evan Evans was buzzing around with his notebook and a blunt pencil which he had to keep on licking. Doc Clock said he would give himself lead poisoning if he carried on. Poor Evan was out of his depth and was very swiftly pushed aside when a motor vehicle arrived with three uniformed police and a plain-clothes officer from the main station in Cardiff. They were all banned from the cinema and poor Billy was beside himself. He’d only got the film on lease and he had to send it back; if he couldn’t let his customers in then how was he going to run his business?
The police searched for the murder weapon and drew chalk marks around the body before it was removed.
