Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1

us would have coped without her.’ He looked at the others. Paul was snoring, but Maurice nodded his agreement.
‘I was inept.’ Maurice said. 'My mum wasn’t interested in the kids, although she helped when she had to. My dad was ill, he was a what’s-it-called?’
‘Diabetic,’ filled in Mick.
‘Yeah, diabetic. She wasn’t always available when I needed her, but Gloria,’ he nodded in Mick’s direction, ‘Would say, “You bring the kiddies over here; I’m cookin’ a fish stew”.’
His imitation of Gloria’s Ghanaian accent made Mick smile, and he said, ‘She was our rock,’ and drained his mug. ‘Time I went. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’ He stood up. ‘Want to share a taxi, Maurice?’
When they had gone, Cerys shook Paul’s shoulder. ‘Hey.’
Paul stopped snoring and swallowed. ‘Mm?’
‘Time for bed, you drunkard. Your friends said goodbye.’
He squinted at her. ‘What’s the time?’
‘One thirty-two.’
‘In the morning?’
‘Well, it’s not the afternoon, is it? Come on, up you get. Some of us are busy tomorrow.’ She grabbed his arm and heaved him up. ‘You need a drink of water or you’ll have a heck of a head.’
‘Did Kitty ring?’
‘No Lovely, not yet.’
8 CERYS
Cerys lowered herself from the bus and teetered along the roadside, clutching her skirt in the Flintshire wind. She wore her low neckline and lurid nails in defiant rebellion.
Some distance ahead, the telephone box provided a red marker at the place from where her young sister, Anwen, would telephone Cerys when possible, and where, protected by a nearby outcrop of rocks, the two would meet in secret.
By the time Cerys reached the kiosk, her red plastic shoes were cutting into her feet. She called Anwen’s name, but the autumn squall whisked away her words. With one hand resting on the telephone box, she gripped a stiletto heel and pulled off first one shoe and then the other. The ground was chilly under her soles, and the gravel on the verge dug into the black nylon of her tights. With her shoes in one hand, she stumbled down the bank into the shelter of a hollow. ‘Anwen?’
Her fifteen-year-old sister stepped from behind a mound. Pale and gangly, she bore little resemblance to most girls her age. The only sign of her emerging adulthood was a smattering of acne across her nose and cheeks. ‘I’m here.’ She hugged Cerys.
‘How are you, Lovely?’ Cerys squeezed Anwen’s bony shoulders.
‘OK.’
Cerys pushed her to arms' length and looked her up and down. Flat lace-up shoes, a drab grey skirt and high-necked blouse under a quilted, knee-length coat. Anwen was a throwback to the fifties.
‘How are things at home?’ Cerys asked.
‘No change. I keep my head down and say my prayers, and they leave me alone, more or less.’ Her eyes travelled down Cerys’s body, taking in the black tights and red mini skirt. ‘How can you walk around like that? God will punish you.’
Cerys gave her sister a shake. ‘Don’t you think God, if he exists,’ she ignored her sister’s gasp, ‘Would be more interested in how I behave than what I wear?’
‘I hope so,’ the girl whispered, and shivered.
‘Damn right he would!’ Cerys tutted. ‘Are you cold?’
‘A bit. I didn’t get breakfast because I took too long on the bedrooms.’
Cerys delved into her bag and handed her sister a Marks and Spencer sandwich. ‘Here. Chicken and mayonnaise.’
Anwen frowned at the packet. ‘You spent money on this?’
‘Just eat it.’ Cerys ordered. ‘You need calories in you in this weather.’ She pulled out a bottle of fizzy orange and balanced it on a rock shelf, and Anwen tore off the plastic cover and bit into the sandwich. ‘This is yummy. What did you say it was?’
‘Chicken and Mayo.’
Anwen swallowed. ‘Mayo?’
‘Mayonnaise. It’s an emulsion of oil and egg.’
‘It’s nice.’
‘Good. Now drink.’ She unscrewed the bottle cap and it hissed, causing sugary liquid to explode sideways. Anwen giggled and Cerys said,. ‘It’s got all shaken up on the bus.’ Cerys watched Anwen take a slug from the bottle then stooped to meet her sister’s eyes. ‘I’ve got news.’
Anwen was all attention, her jaws still working on the sandwich.
’I’m getting married.’ At the crumpling of her sister’s face, she gripped her arm. ‘No. Don’t. It’s good news. When it’s done, I’ll fetch you to live with me - us.’
Anwen swallowed her bread. ‘When?’
‘I can’t say yet, but you carry on doing what you’re doing for now. Be a good girl and keep calling me. I’ll let you know when I’m coming and tell you what to do. He’s all right, Paul. A generous man with a steady income. He’ll soon accept you.’
‘You haven’t told him about me?’
‘Not yet, but soon. First, I need to get in with his family and friends. There’s a party coming up: an engagement party. I’ll come after that. OK?’
Anwen nodded and took another swig of her drink.
Cerys put a hand on her abdomen and lowered her voice. ‘There’s something else I need to tell you.’ Anwen stopped chewing, and Cerys grinned. ‘You’re going to be an auntie.’
‘An auntie. You mean you’re having a baby?’ Anwen squeaked, ‘How did that happen? You’re not married.’
‘Well, Perhaps God realises we love each other. But whatever; it certainly happened. I’m going to have a baby, and you’ll be an auntie. You can help me look after it.’
‘A baby. I’ve never even seen a baby.’
‘You soon will, Lovely, and you’ll be safe. You can go to school and have friends and wear normal clothes. We’ll get you far away from Mam and Dad.’ She gave Anwen a hug. ‘You should get going. You don’t want to get in trouble.’
From the top of the bank, Cerys returned her sister’s wave and watched her walk away carrying a plastic milk container. The milk had been Anwen’s