Love and War by Sian James Page A

night and for the first time my marking hasn’t been done.
    Angela Pugh, 5B, whose aunt lives in Tregroes, asks after my mother. I’m very short with her. ‘She’s quite well, thank you. Why do you ask?’
    She gives me a wounded look. ‘I know you go home on a Wednesday evening,’ she says, ‘that’s all.’
    I search her face and decide that she’s innocent. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve got a headache this morning.’
    She’s prepared to forgive me. ‘Shall I get you an aspirin from Mrs Lewis?’
    ‘It’s all right thank you, Angela. I’ll struggle on.’

    In my Welsh lesson with 2A, we’re reading a story set in the last war. An elderly Welsh couple hear that their only son is being sent abroad on active service. ‘ Lle mae’r hen abroad ’na ?’ the frightened wife asks her husband. ‘Where is that old abroad?’
    ‘Somewhere... somewhere beyond Wrexham,’ he answers.
    This morning the story constricts my throat and brings tears to my eyes. I blow my nose, but the girls are nudging one another.
    ‘It isn’t right is it, Miss?’ Arthur Williams asks. ‘Sending our boys to fight for the English?’
    I’m determined that this lesson is not going to turn into another political debate. Arthur Williams’s father is in prison for his pacifism; the majority of the class think he’s wicked or mad. ‘He’s helping Hitler, isn’t he, Miss?’ ‘It’s cowardice isn’t it, Miss?’ This morning I’m not capable of maintaining fair play.
    ‘War is a great tragedy,’ I say sternly, ‘and we’ll say no more about it. Go on reading, Carys.’
    *

    I’m more than ready for the dinner break and the first to reach the staff room. Gwynn Morgan, who never usually comes near, rushes in after me, closing the door behind him.
    ‘Where were you last night?’ he asks, his voice unrecognisably harsh. ‘I waited for your bus. I was worried out of my mind when you weren’t on it. Where were you?’
    ‘I stayed with my mother last night. I didn’t arrange to meet you. What’s the matter with you?’
    He comes right up to me and grips me hard by the shoulders. ‘You knew I’d be meeting you. You knew I’d be waiting. Don’t you care a bit about me?’
    I shake him off. ‘Leave me alone, somebody will see us. You didn’t ask to see me. I don’t owe you any apology.’
    ‘Rhian.’ Suddenly he looks old and dejected.
    ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you’d be meeting me. I had so much to think about.’
    ‘We must talk, Rhian.’
    ‘I know. But not here, someone will come.’
    ‘Come to my room later. I’ll send everyone out.’
    ‘No. I’m worried about being in your room. Come to see me tonight, at eight o’clock tonight.’
    He looks surprised. ‘All right,’ he says. ‘Yes, that will be better. Eight o’clock.’
    He leaves and I find myself trembling again.
    Mary Powell, Maths, comes in to find me staring out of the window, trying to compose myself. I turn towards her, making an effort to smile.
    ‘Rhian, what’s the matter? Your face is a terrible colour. Have you had bad news?’
    ‘No, I’m all right. It’s only, you know, the time of the month, that’s all.’
    ‘Thank goodness for that. I thought it was... Have you heard from Huw?’
    ‘Not for three weeks.’
    ‘And that doesn’t help. It’s hard, isn’t it? It’s not fair that we have to suffer like this. I haven’t heard from Alun, either, not this week or last. He had a few days in hospital last month, he had something called prickly heat. It sounds awfully painful, doesn’t it? He burns terribly in the sun, even in Llandudno, he’s so fair-skinned, you see. He should never have been sent to Burma.’ She turns her engagement ring round and round as she talks. ‘I wonder if he’ll come back safe,’ she says. ‘I’m afraid to listen to the news these days. Those Japanese are worse than the Germans. And there are more of them, too.’
    We take out our sandwiches and make a pot of tea. Most of the staff go