Dead Man's Embers by Mari Strachan

for her insolent stare. When Davey pauses, she says, ‘Is anyone going to have some pudding?’

9
    After an afternoon spent under the shade of the butterfly tree in the garden Non has recovered. Supper is cold lamb and bread and butter, and salad leaves for those who want them, and they all seem lost in their own thoughts during the meal. When she leans over Davey to clear away his supper plate the strong smell of his father’s pipe tobacco rises from his hair and clothes and makes her cough. Though William Davies forgets many things, he never forgets his pipe of tobacco after his meals.
    She takes the plates, and the salad leaves that had wilted before they could eat them, across to the sink. The kettle is already tinkling on the fire in the range and she takes the poker to the coals to bring it to a boil. She may let the fire die down then; they can do without their late evening cup of tea in the interests of cooling down a little.
    Davey had come home exhausted from helping his mother fill in her census return, exhausted in a way he rarely became after even the hardest physical work. When he arrived at his parents’ house, it was to find that his mother had locked his father in the small room in the roof all afternoon. Old William Davies wasdistressed by the heat and lack of water and had cried when Davey released him, telling him he wanted to go home, that his mother would be worried about him. Catherine Davies could not see that she had been wrong to lock her husband away. She had told her son, He is nothing but a nuisance. Then, when Davey sat with her to fill the census return, she insisted that Billy’s name should be on it because he was still there with her in spirit. His refusal to include Billy left his mother in a greater sulk than the one she had fallen into at dinner time. Davey had forged his father’s signature as the head of the household. He told Non that he was thankful they no longer had to fill in a column about the mental health of any person on the form. He wouldn’t have known what to write about either of his parents.
    All day Non has been glad to think that the people she loves best are with her for this occasion; that the census will be completed to show that her family is all together on this one night in 1921, that it will be written down and made true so that generations into the future her descendants will see that it was so, and no one can ever deny it. Now she begins to be concerned that the picture it will present may not be the absolute truth.
    She carries their cups and saucers into the parlour, a room they tend to use only for special occasions, for which Non is sorry because it is a well designed and pleasant room, looking out to the north and the peaks of Eryri. Plumes of smoke snake into the sky from the distant foothills; they have heard tales of spontaneous fires occurring on the hillsides where the grass and gorse has withered and dried under the relentless glare of the sun.
    And here is her family sitting waiting for her, for their after-supper cup of tea, and for this once-in-a-decade event to begin. Meg is excited, Non can hear it in her high voice and giggles. Davey will be irritated by her girlish silliness before the eveningis out. He has already laid the form on the writing table behind the sofa, filled the inkwell, and has two pens lying in wait on a pristine sheet of blotting paper. Gwydion is attempting to read the form over his shoulder and, from the expression on his face, failing.
    â€˜Strictly confidential,’ Davey says, pointing to the words printed boldly at the top of the sheet.
    Non is not sure whether he is joking or not. As she goes back to the kitchen to make the tea she remembers how full of jokes and laughter he used to be, and her heart leaps at this sign that maybe the old Davey is still there, somewhere. In the same instant she remembers his treachery, and her heart steadies.
    She returns with the tray bearing the teapot,