Free Second Chance by Sian James

when my mother died.’
    He turned to me. ‘It was wonderful for us boys. We were desperately upset, I remember this hard lump I had in my chest so I could hardly breathe, but of course boys, young men rather, don’t cry. Having you there was like having a hired mourner, our pain was eased, but our dignity remained intact. You did us a lot of good, Katie.’
    â€˜I was only about thirteen then and I loved Auntie Jane more than anyone in the world except my mother. Her death terrified me. I couldn’t see how we could possibly manage without her. I remember very well how I couldn’t stop crying – in the chapel, in the cemetery and back at the farm afterwards. But, you know, I’ve hardly cried since. Until today.’
    Rhydian got up and put his arm round me. ‘You used to come to us every Christmas, didn’t you, till Mam died. You seemed to us like someone from another planet, so small and serious. We couldn’t help teasing you.’
    Something stirred inside me. ‘Was it you who made the sledge one year?’
    He seemed pleased that I’d remembered it. ‘Yes, that was me. We’ve still got it, too. The boys still get it out whenever we have enough snow.’
    â€˜How old were you? When you made it? Can you remember?’
    â€˜Thirteen, I think. Having woodwork lessons in school. Twelve or thirteen.’
    â€˜You took me out on it, once.’
    â€˜Did I? Yes, I seem to remember that. Hope I didn’t frighten you.’
    I smiled at him.
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    Yes. He took me out on his sledge. One dazzling white Christmas, the snow frosted over with stars. I remember the fear I felt. And the pride. Hold on to me, he said, and I did. He seemed so large and strong. And warm as an animal. And smelling of animals, too. How old would I have been? Only about five, I suppose. But I can still remember when he said, Hold on tight. We’ll go down Parc Isa. You’re not frightened, are you?
    â€˜What’s the matter?’ Grace asked me. ‘You’re looking sad again. Have some more whisky.’
    â€˜No, I’m all right. I was remembering Rhydian’s sledge, that’s all.’
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6
    Rhydian and Grace stayed until almost eleven and then it seemed a respectable time to go to bed. Their company, or the whisky, had managed to calm me and hoping for a good night’s sleep I went out to the garden to fill my lungs with the cold mountain air. This is where I’d stand years ago reciting Shakespeare in the darkness: Desdemona, Ophelia, Juliet. ‘You’ve got a voice like milk and honey,’ my mother would say when I got back into the house. ‘Like porridge and cream. Like buttermilk.’ She seemed so close, I could almost touch her.
    The moment passed when I saw Arthur streaking away across the garden and through the hedge at the bottom: I’d left the door open. I stood calling him for a while, but knew it was hopeless – he had no trust in me – so I went back to the house, hoping he’d turn up in the morning.
    I filled my mother’s hot water bottle to take to bed with me – it would be something to hold – and went upstairs. Paul hadn’t rung. He was probably still in Cambridge getting to grips with Annabel’s problems.
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    â€˜We had everything. Your grandmother had recently died so we were able to take over this house and we had most of her furniture as well, and pots and pans and a tea set and a half dinner set as wedding presents. I remember my Auntie Molly – she was Jane’s eldest sister – asking me what she should send. “We’ve got everything, Auntie,” I said. “We’ve got absolutely everything now. But an extra pair of towels would be very useful.” It was true, we had a house and decent furniture and everything else we needed and a good wage coming in. And in just over a year’s time, a baby girl as well, pretty as a little doll.