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Chapters (77)
  1. Landing Page
  2. A TERRIBLE KINDNESS
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. ABERFAN
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. CAMBRIDGE CHOIR
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. FAMILY BUSINESS
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. MIDNIGHT CHOIR
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. ABERFAN
  68. 59
  69. 60
  70. 61
  71. 62
  72. 63
  73. 64
  74. 65
  75. Acknowledgements
  76. About the Author
  77. Copyright

‘OK,’ he says, watching the familiar swing of her hips, the purposeful heel-toe of her walk, conscious he’s watching so much more than Gloria; part of himself, part of them. ‘Thank you,’ he shouts.

She raises her arm as she walks away and he can’t tell if it’s in dismissal or acceptance.

64

Once she’s eaten the sandwiches William made for them in Evelyn’s kitchen this morning, Gloria sleeps all the way from Swansea to Merthyr Tydfil. When she wakes, she still doesn’t speak, turns herself away from him to look out of her window. It’s disconcerting. From the moment William met Gloria, she has talked. His adult life has been narrated by her. Driving through the valley villages – Cilfynydd, Troedyrhiw – she would normally have laughed, attempting to read them out loud. So many times, he wants to start a conversation with her, but feels he has no right until she has said what she needs to say to him. In spite of all this, unbidden arrows of joy keep piercing him as he steals glances at her.

‘You’ve probably got a lot to get off your chest,’ he finally says, as they drive through Pentrebach, two miles from Aberfan. ‘I understand, so feel free.’

Gloria continues to gaze out of the passenger window, across the valley, yellowed by the afternoon sunshine. ‘Let’s do this first.’

In William’s mind, Aberfan knows only the night-time; with the roof of Pantglas school forever crumpled, poking at weird angles out of the landslide like a broken umbrella. Aberfan’s streets are forever dark and tacky underfoot.

To arrive in broad daylight, with green trees vivid against a blue sky, disturbs him, as has passing the new school on the edge of the village, with children all over the playground.

Where the coal waste bulldozed through stands a community centre, behind which he parks Martin’s car. While Gloria goes to find a toilet, William walks a few paces to stare at an electric-blue climbing frame and roundabout, at some swings with cheerful red frames.

He hears Gloria approaching from behind. She stands by his side.

‘This is where the school was,’ he says. A small dog waits for its elderly owner to catch up, then sniffs at the roundabout.

How human imagination and will could contrive to transform the Aberfan he knew to what it is now utterly confounds him. He finds he doesn’t want to stare at a playground, a community centre. He’s come to see heroic men crawling over the carnage, with blackened skin, haunted eyes and shovels in perpetual, desperate motion. He’s come to feel the slurry underfoot, hear the lorries groaning in and out of the village.