The White Dove. Rosie Thomas

at Nick.

      ‘We’ve just heard now, elected Secretary of the Rhondda Branch of the SWMF. Nick Penry, a good Nantlas boy if ever there was one. Give him a clap now, for all his hard work in the past, and to come.’

      Mari listened to the clapping, frozen.

      It was an important post, although an honorary one. It meant that Nick would be working at a level in the Federation that represented all the pit lodges in the Rhondda valleys. Beyond that it would give him a voice at the top level, on the main South Wales executive. Mari knew that it was the beginning of real power for him, the beginning of real influence, in the world that he cared about. Nick was a Communist because its importance confronted him every day of his life.

      And yet, he had never even mentioned to her the possibility of his election. Had they already drifted so far apart that he was sure of her disapproval, certain that she would not put her support behind him?

      Mari was proud of him still, but she had lost the ability to tell him so. Just as Nick in his turn seemed to have lost the ability to sympathize with her fears and anxieties.

      Mari bit her lips and looked across the room at him.

      ‘Speech! Speech!’ Nick was being pushed up on to the stage. She watched him, thinking how much at ease he looked on the platform. He wasn’t red-faced and awkward like William Jones, nor was he over-confident and strident. He was just Nick himself, and he smiled down at them as though they were all old and well-loved friends.

      ‘I don’t want to make a speech …’

      ‘Shame! Shame!’

      ‘Let the man speak, will you?’

      ‘… and neither do you want to hear one. I just want to say thank you for voting me into a position where I might be able to join in helping us, and the industry, back up off our knees.’

      ‘That’s it, Nick boy. You tell ‘em.’

      ‘I’m glad that Nannon and Gwyn Jones have given us something to celebrate together, tonight. This is all we’ve got left now, isn’t it? Staying together, all of us, whether it’s this village, or the Rhondda, or South Wales, or the whole community of miners all over the country. And what’s more …’

      The room was quiet now. Everyone was watching Nick.

      ‘… that’s the only thing that really matters. So long as we’re together, so long as every one of us in this room, and in every pit and Welfare Hall across the country, believes that miners and not millionaires should run our pits, well then, we can win. Then our children can go to school in boots again, and our wives can go out to buy food for our families.’

      There was a moment of complete silence before the clapping and cheering broke out again.

      Oh yes, Nick, you believe it, Mari thought. It’s all you care about, except perhaps for Dickon. And standing up there, somehow you can make everyone else believe whatever you want. You’ve got a talent, sure enough. And you’re not the kind of man to waste a talent, are you?

      The room was full of the warmth of friendliness. Mari lifted her head, watching her husband.

      ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘I told you I wasn’t going to make a speech. Let’s get on now and dance and sing, and forget everything for a few hours. We’re here to celebrate a wedding, aren’t we? I hope you’ll be very happy, Nannon and Gwyn. I hope you’ll be as happy as Mari and I have been.’

      Nick had ducked down from the stage and was pushing his way through the crowd. She saw his head, taller than the others, looking around for her. In Mari’s arms Dickon said ‘Da’ in a pleased voice and held out his arms to him. When Nick reached her side Mari said, without looking at him,

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

      ‘Would you have wanted to know?’ As he always did, Nick met a challenge with a challenge.

      ‘Husbands and wives usually mention these things to each other. You make me feel like a stranger, Nick. And why wish that on Nannon and Gwyn? I wouldn’t want anyone else to have to enjoy our kind of happiness.’

      ‘You still make me happy, Mari,’ he said softly. He put his arms around her and Dickon, and forced her to look up so that he could see her face. ‘I’m sorry if I can’t do the same for you. I’m still the man you married, you know. Just the same.’

      Regardless of the crowd around them he kissed her, warm against her cold cheek. ‘I could prove it to you, if you’d only let me. Come on, dance with me. At least then I can hold you close and still look decent.’

      ‘What about Dickon?’

      ‘Give him to your mam to hold, for God’s sake. Just this once.’

      The band was assembled on the stage, and after the tootlings as they tuned up they swept into a waltz. Couples stepped out on to the creaky floor. Amongst the replete pink faces and careful best clothes there was an atmosphere of revelry almost forgotten in Nantlas.

      ‘Why do you blame me,’ Nick whispered, ‘for trying to make it possible for nights like this to happen every week?’

      ‘I don’t blame you, my love.’

      Mari carried Dickon over to her mother. The child allowed himself to be handed over uncomplainingly, but he never took his eyes off his parents.

      ‘That’s better,’ Nick said. ‘And now, may I have the pleasure?’ He looked proud, and happier than she had seen him for a long, long time.

      Mari saw his arms held out to her, and she smiled. Her eyes met Nick’s and she caught his happiness. Suddenly, surprisingly, she felt like a young girl again. Their quarrel was all forgotten. The music lifted her spirits higher and she stood for a second swaying in time to it. Then Nick’s arms came around her and they were off across the splintery wooden floor.

      Mari tilted her head back so that she could look at him. Nick saw a flush of colour in her cheeks, and a light in her face that turned her back into the pretty, merry Mari he had married. He held her tighter and they spun in the dance together.

      ‘Nick?’ she whispered.

      ‘Yes, my love?’

      ‘I’m still the woman I was, you know. And I’m … glad you’re doing the work you are.’

      Nick stopped dancing. His head bent quickly over hers and he kissed her. And all around them the waltzing couples smiled and nodded to each other.

      When Mari’s eyes opened again they were sparkling. For a moment the world felt a warm and festive place.

      ‘Come on, Nick Penry,’ she ordered him. ‘Let’s dance.’

      They moved again, holding each other close. Nick was humming to the music. With her head against his shoulder Mari could hear the sound of it, deep in his chest.

      It had been a beautiful wedding. There was no need to cry, Amy told herself. Adeline hadn’t cried at all, and the bride’s mother was almost expected to do that. Amy thought of her mother at the front of the packed, flower-massed church, her skin like white silk against the black velvet Cossack coat and her hair flaming red under the shako hat. No, Adeline wouldn’t have cried. Not in front of the Royal Family, and Lady Colefax, and Mr Baldwin. It had been a great day for Adeline and she had orchestrated it perfectly. Nothing as spontaneous as tears would have been allowed to spoil it.

      Amy wrung her facecloth out in cold water and pressed it against her eyes. Just five minutes up here in her room, just five minutes to collect herself, and then she would go downstairs again.

      The new Mr and Mrs Jaspert had driven away at last, only a few minutes ago, but the party had barely faltered. Adeline’s parties were famous, and the departure of the principals was going to make no difference to this one. Or two, rather, Amy decided. In the huge, long room on the first floor the grandees were dancing stiffly under the chandeliers. There was a buffet supper in the dining room, where the pink claws