Make Room for the Jester by Stead Jones Read Free Book Online

Gladstone said.
    ‘Doing what?’
    We reached Gladstone’s door. ‘Blow up Capel Mawr,’ he said.

V
    For Martha Davies, Gladstone’s mother, living on Lower Hill was the end of the line. Once, when her first husband was alive, she had lived in a bigger house by the beach and taken in visitors. With her second husband she had gone in for businesses as well, a lot of businesses. But the boarding house had gone to pot, the businesses had all failed, and the second husband had caught the 7.10 one morning. So there was nowhere for Martha except Lower Hill. ‘Such a comedown,’ she would tell us sadly, but Meira said she’d asked for it. ‘I was made for better things,’ Martha would complain, but most people were agreed that she was too fond, by far, of a drop and more of gin…. Martha Davies had big breasts and a very big behind, and a top lip that was only lipstick. She dyed her hair all the time, and there was always a cigarette going, and she was forever cuddling you and kissing. WithMartha it had to be either a screech of laughter or a howl of anguish. ‘It’s a bit pathetic, really,’ Gladstone used to say. ‘Her emotions aren’t properly balanced, you see.’
    Martha’s house was identical to ours, except that it was never as polished, never as tidy. That night when we walked in, it looked as if a hurricane had struck it. And the children were all up, too – standing in front of the fire in their nightshirts. They were the kind of children who look windblown on a summer’s calm; they could make the finest clothes look like oddments from a jumble sale without any effort at all.
    Gladstone ran to them. ‘Naughty! Naughty! All of you,’ he cried. They rushed to him and had him on the floor in no time. ‘Why are you out of bed? Didn’t I tell you Mam wouldn’t be long?’
    Martha went out every night, usually to the Harp where she waited on. ‘What have I got to stay in for?’ she used to say.
    Gladstone struggled to his feet. ‘No playing about,’ he cried, trying to be stern. ‘What are you doing up, all of you?’
    ‘Walter wet the bed,’ Dora said.
    ‘Had to get out, quick,’ Mair added.
    ‘Nearly had to swim,’ Walter croaked.
    ‘We pulled the mattress off the bed,’ Dora explained, ‘but it got stuck on the stairs.’ She remembered her lisp and added, ‘thstuck on the thstairs.’
    ‘You were going to put it in front of the fire?’ Gladstone groaned. ‘Oh, what have I told you about that? What have I said?’ He did his enraged act, falling on his knees, banging his fists on the floor. The children howled with laughter. ‘Haven’t I told you never to go near the fire?’ he cried, andtheir faces were suddenly stilled, except for Walter who kept on laughing and pulling up his shirt to show all. ‘Lew,’ Gladstone ordered, ‘bring the mattress down.’
    I went up the stairs and dragged the mattress to the fire. Martha had one of the bedrooms in the house, the children the other. Gladstone always slept on the sofa in the living room. He never slept much, he used to say. Most of the night he spent reading.
    ‘It’ll be dry in no time,’ he announced, ‘but never again, mind.’ He took Walter on his knee. ‘Now, everybody sit down – not on the tiles or you’ll have cold bums. Right – now we’ll have a little concert until the mattress is dry. Everybody’s got to do something. All right?’
    The children squatted down eagerly.
    ‘Now then – who’s first?’
    There was the usual dead silence. I broke it by saying, ‘What does he want us to do?’
    ‘Later,’ Gladstone said. ‘Tell you later. Now – who’s first? Dora?’
    ‘First last time,’ Dora said sharply.
    ‘Walter then.’
    Walter was always a volunteer. He got up and gave us a hymn – which one it was impossible to tell – in a voice like a crow.
    ‘Lovely,’ Gladstone said. ‘Sings like a beautiful bird. Now – Dora.’
    Dora recited ‘Y Sipsiwn’ by Eifion Wyn. It went very well too, so