‘We didn’t know Colin sang in a choir,’ the woman says, and then, as if by saying his name she’s suddenly aware of him in the bed, she walks forward and the children follow.

‘What happened?’ the woman asks quietly. ‘They said it was a road accident?’

‘He was hit by a car.’

‘Was he drunk?’ the girl says.

Her brother flinches. ‘Katy!’

The wife’s red nails splay across her mouth and a tear sits on her eyelash. William notices a chunk of diamond, swivelled to one side of the skinny pole of her ring finger.

‘You said he’d look different, Mum,’ says the girl. The boy takes a step nearer the bed.

‘I thought he would, darling.’ She looks up briefly at William.

‘Can he hear us?’ The boy’s deep voice has that unstable quality, as if at any moment it could veer off into a squeak.

‘I think so,’ William says, ‘he squeezed my hand when I told him you were coming.’

The girl runs round to stand next to William and takes Colin’s hand. ‘Hello, Daddy,’ she stage whispers.

The wife takes the other hand.

‘I’ll leave you to it.’ William backs away from the bed.

‘No!’ the wife says quickly, nodding at the seat in the corner. ‘Please stay. I didn’t know he had friends here.’

William sits.

‘He’s not squeezing my hand, Mummy.’

‘He’s very weak, love.’

William hadn’t planned to say anything, but finds himself speaking to the boy. ‘I know he was wondering how you were getting on in your new school – Daniel, is it?’

Surprise and pain sweep the boy’s face. He moves closer to his mother. ‘Can I, Mum?’ He holds Colin’s hand, so all William can see of it are the fresh white crescent nails. ‘School’s fine, but I still miss you.’

Five minutes later Colin stops breathing, but not before three people have said goodbye and placed a kiss on his fresh forehead.

Part V

ABERFAN

59

Martin pours them both a coffee. The morning sun whitens the curls of steam rising from the cups. They haven’t been to bed yet.

‘Where is it?’ William stands with his head on one side, flicking through Martin’s records.

‘Depends which version you want.’

‘Don’t care.’ He turns to Martin. ‘You choose.’

Martin takes two strides to stand next to William. He pulls one out almost immediately and flashes its cover briefly at William; it’s a recording from King’s College.

‘Sit,’ he says, walking to the record player.

He does as he’s told and closes his eyes. He hears the slither of the paper sleeve, the bump and crackle of the needle. Feels the give of the settee as Martin settles next to him.

‘All right?’ Martin asks twelve minutes later.

William opens his eyes and nods slowly. ‘Still here.’