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Authors: Alice Thomas Ellis
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sat on it.
‘I think it’s ever so pretty here, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Such a change from the city. I often say to my friend – I wish I could retire and live here all the time.’
‘Have another drink,’ offered Dr Wyn, looking rather puzzled.
‘Oooh, no I mustn’t,’ said Lydia, who longed for one. ‘I’ve got such a silly head. Spirits make it go round and round. Tee, hee, hee.’
I have broken Elizabeth’s doll. I threw it on the cobble-stones and Elizabeth cried. I cannot speak. If I could speak, they would say I am mad. Because I cannot speak, they say I am mad. Elizabeth said to Hywel it was her doll when she was a little girl and she had loved it, and Hywel said, ‘More fool you.’ And she dried her eyes
.
Beuno buried the doll under a rowan tree. She cried to Bueno that it had been her doll when she was a little girl and she had loved it, and he took the spade, and dug a hole, and buried it
.
I thought I would dig it up again, and put it in her bed, all covered with mould, so that she would know it was dead, but after a while she stopped crying, so I left it there. I hid among the rocks and Hywel came looking for me. He couldn’t find me. I waited until the shadows filled the valley before I went home
.
Beuno said ‘Oh Angharad’ when I went upstairs, but no one else said anything
.
‘He wheeled me in as the star turn,’ said Lydia indignantly when she got back. ‘He didn’t give a toss for my – ears. He just wanted to use me as a sort of social-aid-cum-aphrodisiac. I do detest social climbers. They leave muddy boot-marks on your shoulders, and you get glimpses of quite their least attractive aspects. So I sat there thinking about life, and when I listened again he was talking about orgasms.’ She paused, squinting reflectively. ‘
Could
he’ve been? Yes, he was, because, after that, he started going on about nights of love. I do seem to have the most extraordinary effect on people. Or do you suppose he does it all the time?’
‘I don’t think he does it at all,’ said Betty. ‘I think it’s your imagination again.’
‘I don’t imagine that sort of thing,’ protested Lydia. ‘What I just told you is straight reportage. I think I’ve even left out the worst bits. Blocked them. I’m beginning to think this valley is a sort of extended nut-house.’
‘It’s you who keep hearing things,’ Betty reminded her.
‘It’s probably one of them,’ said Lydia, ‘– one of the lunatics giggling away in the night.’
Both women wished that this had not been said.
Betty went over and locked the door, and Lydia looked out of the window at the shadows that were gathering under the trees. ‘They don’t like us, you know,’ she told Betty.
‘Oh, nonsense,’ said Betty. ‘What about Elizabeth’s dinner party? If they didn’t like us they wouldn’t’ve asked us, would they?’
‘It wasn’t them,’ said Lydia. ‘Elizabeth asked us, and she isn’t one of them. If it wasn’t for her we’d never have set foot in Farmhouse Grim. They don’t like outsiders.’
‘What about Beuno?’ asked Betty. ‘He likes us.’
‘It’s his Christian duty to do so,’ said Lydia. ‘Beuno likes everyone a little and no one in particular. He’s a true religious.’
‘I have come to the conclusion,’ said Betty, who had also been thinking, ‘that the reason Beuno doesn’t marry is the same as the reason Elizabeth won’t have children. They’re afraid of heredity. It’s Angharad. I saw her today. Poor little girl.’ She looked faintly stunned, as people do who have observed the misshapen: there is no Schadenfreude to ease the witnessing of deformity.
Lydia shivered and knelt to light the fire. The flames were pure, but then she remembered the ash in the morning. She thought of water, which was pure, and then remembered the crud on the bed of the stream. She thought that everything was composed of heat and corruption and water – that we live off death and water
‘I think it’s ever so pretty here, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Such a change from the city. I often say to my friend – I wish I could retire and live here all the time.’
‘Have another drink,’ offered Dr Wyn, looking rather puzzled.
‘Oooh, no I mustn’t,’ said Lydia, who longed for one. ‘I’ve got such a silly head. Spirits make it go round and round. Tee, hee, hee.’
I have broken Elizabeth’s doll. I threw it on the cobble-stones and Elizabeth cried. I cannot speak. If I could speak, they would say I am mad. Because I cannot speak, they say I am mad. Elizabeth said to Hywel it was her doll when she was a little girl and she had loved it, and Hywel said, ‘More fool you.’ And she dried her eyes
.
Beuno buried the doll under a rowan tree. She cried to Bueno that it had been her doll when she was a little girl and she had loved it, and he took the spade, and dug a hole, and buried it
.
I thought I would dig it up again, and put it in her bed, all covered with mould, so that she would know it was dead, but after a while she stopped crying, so I left it there. I hid among the rocks and Hywel came looking for me. He couldn’t find me. I waited until the shadows filled the valley before I went home
.
Beuno said ‘Oh Angharad’ when I went upstairs, but no one else said anything
.
‘He wheeled me in as the star turn,’ said Lydia indignantly when she got back. ‘He didn’t give a toss for my – ears. He just wanted to use me as a sort of social-aid-cum-aphrodisiac. I do detest social climbers. They leave muddy boot-marks on your shoulders, and you get glimpses of quite their least attractive aspects. So I sat there thinking about life, and when I listened again he was talking about orgasms.’ She paused, squinting reflectively. ‘
Could
he’ve been? Yes, he was, because, after that, he started going on about nights of love. I do seem to have the most extraordinary effect on people. Or do you suppose he does it all the time?’
‘I don’t think he does it at all,’ said Betty. ‘I think it’s your imagination again.’
‘I don’t imagine that sort of thing,’ protested Lydia. ‘What I just told you is straight reportage. I think I’ve even left out the worst bits. Blocked them. I’m beginning to think this valley is a sort of extended nut-house.’
‘It’s you who keep hearing things,’ Betty reminded her.
‘It’s probably one of them,’ said Lydia, ‘– one of the lunatics giggling away in the night.’
Both women wished that this had not been said.
Betty went over and locked the door, and Lydia looked out of the window at the shadows that were gathering under the trees. ‘They don’t like us, you know,’ she told Betty.
‘Oh, nonsense,’ said Betty. ‘What about Elizabeth’s dinner party? If they didn’t like us they wouldn’t’ve asked us, would they?’
‘It wasn’t them,’ said Lydia. ‘Elizabeth asked us, and she isn’t one of them. If it wasn’t for her we’d never have set foot in Farmhouse Grim. They don’t like outsiders.’
‘What about Beuno?’ asked Betty. ‘He likes us.’
‘It’s his Christian duty to do so,’ said Lydia. ‘Beuno likes everyone a little and no one in particular. He’s a true religious.’
‘I have come to the conclusion,’ said Betty, who had also been thinking, ‘that the reason Beuno doesn’t marry is the same as the reason Elizabeth won’t have children. They’re afraid of heredity. It’s Angharad. I saw her today. Poor little girl.’ She looked faintly stunned, as people do who have observed the misshapen: there is no Schadenfreude to ease the witnessing of deformity.
Lydia shivered and knelt to light the fire. The flames were pure, but then she remembered the ash in the morning. She thought of water, which was pure, and then remembered the crud on the bed of the stream. She thought that everything was composed of heat and corruption and water – that we live off death and water
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