She remained in the kitchen while Gwyn and the girl walked down to the gate. The door of the Land Rover was open, and Mr. Griffiths was standing beside it. "You'll have to get in this side and climb over," he told Eirlys, "the snow's deep on the other side."
Gwyn had never known his father to be so considerate to a child.
Eirlys stepped out into the lane, but before she could climb into the Land Rover, Mr. Griffiths' arms were around her, helping her up. For a second the two shadowy figures became one and, for some reason, Gwyn felt that he did not belong to the scene. He looked away to the frozen hedges glittering in the glare of the headlights.
Inside the house the telephone began to ring. Then the Land Rover's wheels spun, and Gwyn had to back away from the sprays of wet snow. It was too late to shout good-bye.
He turned to go back into the house and saw his mother standing on the porch. "Mrs. Davis, Ty Coch, was on the phone," she said gravely. "She wants to talk to us tomorrow. It's about Dewi's nose!"
Chapter 6
A DROWNING
"We've left Dewi with his auntie," said Mrs. Davis.
Dewi had many aunties. Gwyn wondered which one had the pleasure of his company, and if Dewi was to be envied or pitied.
The Davises had come to "thrash out the problem of the nose," as Mr. Davis put it.
It was six o'clock. The tea had only just been cleared away, and Gwyn's stomach was already grumbling. Mr. and Mrs. Davis, Gwyn, and his parents were sitting around the kitchen table as though they were about to embark on an evening of cards or some other lighthearted entertainment, not something as serious as Dewi's nose.
"The problem, as I see it," began Mrs. Davis, "is, who's lying?"
"Gary Pritchard, Merfyn Jones, and Brian Roberts, all say that they think they saw Gwyn throw a stone," said Mr. Davis solemnly. "Now, this is a very serious business."
"Very dangerous too," added Mrs. Davis.
"That goes without saying, Gladys." Mr. Davis coughed. "Now, the situation is," he paused dramatically, "what's to be done about it?"
"How. . er, how bad is the nose?" Mrs. Griffiths asked.
"Very bad," replied Mrs. Davis indignantly. "How bad d'you think your nose would be if it had been hit by a rock?"
"Now wait a minute!" Mr. Griffiths entered the conversation with a roar. "First it's a stone, now it's a rock, and we haven't yet established whether anything was thrown. Perhaps Dewi bumped his nose. We haven't heard his explanation."
"That's the problem." Mr. Davis banged his fist on the table. "Dewi says he did bump his nose, but the other boys say Gwyn hit him with a stone."
"Dewi's frightened of him, see!" Mrs. Davis pointed an accusing finger at Gwyn. "He's afraid your boy 'll do something worse to him if he tells."
"Bloody nonsense!" Mr. Griffiths stood up, his chair scraping on the tiled floor. "Let's hear your side of it, Gwyn."
Gwyn looked up. He was unused to having his father defend him. He felt that he could take on any number of Davises now. "I didn't throw a stone," he said.
"There!" Mr. and Mrs. Davis spoke simultaneously.
Mr. Griffiths sat down and the two sets of parents eyed each other wordlessly.
"He's lying, of course," Mr. Davis said at last.
"He ought to be punished," added his wife. "The principal should be told."
"It's a pity they don't thrash kids these days," growled Mr. Davis.
This time it was Mr. Griffiths who banged the table. Gwyn got up and began to pace about the room while the adults all talked at once. He had a tremendous desire to do something dramatic, and the knowledge that he probably could made the temptation almost unbearable. What should he do though? Box Mr. Davis's ears from a distance of three meters? Pull Mrs. Davis's hair? The possibilities were endless. And then he remembered Nain's warning. He must not abuse his power. It must be used only when there was something that he truly needed to do.
"It's not as if your son is normal," he heard Mrs. Davis say. "Everyone's been talking about his being peculiar, if you know what I mean. Ask any of the children."
For the first time his parents seemed unable to reply. Mrs. Griffiths looked so miserable that Gwyn could hardly bear it. She had known for days that something was wrong, and now she was going to hear about his "stories."
"It seems," Mrs. Davis went on, "that Gwyn has been saying some very peculiar things, if you know what I mean. And why? If you ask me, your son's not normal."
Gwyn had to stop her. Contemplating the generous curves that overflowed the narrow kitchen chair supporting Mrs. Davis, his eyes alighted upon a large expanse of flesh just above her knee that her too-tight skirt could not cover. He flexed his fingers, pressed his thumb and forefinger together tight, tight, tight!
Mrs. Davis screamed. She glared at Mr. Griffiths and then asked haughtily, "Have you got a dog?"
The two men frowned at her and then frowned at each other. Mrs. Griffiths said, "Yes, he's in the barn."
"A cat?" Mrs. Davis inquired hopefully.
"A black tom." Mrs. Griffiths nodded towards a dark form sitting on the sill outside the kitchen window. "We call him Long John," she said, "because he lost a leg on the road when he was just a kitten. It's wonderful what vets can do these days."
Mrs. Davis glanced at Long John and then quickly looked away, her pink lips contorted with distaste. "I think we'll go," she said and stood up.
Her husband looked at her but did not move.
"Get up, Bryn!" Mrs. Davis commanded. "I want to go!"
Mr. Davis followed his wife out of the kitchen with a perplexed expression on his face, as though he could not understand why the interview had ended so abruptly and wondered if the situation had been resolved without his being aware of it.
Mr. and Mrs. Griffiths were as perplexed as he. They silently followed their unwelcome guests to the front door. There the whole unpleasant business might have ended, had not Mrs. Davis been heard to mutter darkly, "Someone pinched my thigh!"
Mrs. Griffiths gasped. Her husband roared "What?" But Mr. Davis, having opened the front door, thrust his wife through it before she could cause the affair to deteriorate further. He then followed quickly after her, and the wind parted the two families by slamming the door.
Mr. and Mrs. Griffiths retreated into the kitchen and slumped battle-weary beside the table. Then the humor of the situation overcame them and they began to laugh with relief.
"Thanks for sticking up for me, Dad," said Gwyn, when his parents had recovered. He felt awkward and not at all sure that he had done the right thing in the end.
"If you say you're innocent, that's all I need to know," said Mr. Griffiths gruffly.
Gwyn looked hard at his father. He could not understand this change of attitude. A week ago his father would neither have believed nor defended him. In all probability he would have been sentenced to a weekend in his room and a meal of bread and water. "I'd better get on with my homework," he said shyly.
He was about to leave the room when his father suddenly said, "Is that girl coming again, then?"
"What girl?" Gwyn asked.
"You know what girl. The one that was here yesterday. I can always run her home if. ." his father hesitated and then added diffidently, "if she wants to come."
"I don't suppose she will," said Gwyn. "She's a girl. She only came because I was hurt."
"Oh, that was it?"
Gwyn thought he could detect something almost like regret in his father's voice. What had come over the man? It was quite disturbing. It had nothing to do with himself, Gwyn was sure of that. He knew, instinctively, that he could not, should not, use his power to influence thought.
The pinch had been satisfactory though.
Gwyn realized that his father's mood had changed when Eirlys appeared. If that was the case, then she would have to come again, if only to keep his father happy. And so, although it was against his principles to have girls at Ty Bryn, the following day he asked Eirlys if she could come to the farm on Saturday.