MORNING SERIAL

“AND where are you off to?” she asked.

“I’ve been invited out to tea, Mam.”

His father, seated in the armchair, smiled. “Not a young lady, I hope?”

Gweneira and Phyllis looked up from their knitting as they curled up on the sofa and giggled selfconsciously.

“Our Ieuan’s too young to go courting, Daddy,” Phyllis chirped.

“Danny Derrick’s got a sweetheart, I’ve seen them together in the back lane,” Gweneira ventured.

“That’s enough!” their mother warned. “Sweetheart, indeed! Dick, what’s the matter with you? Such silly talk. That’s the kind of nonsense that puts ideas into young boys’ heads.

“Next you’ll have him wasting his time parading up and down the High Street of a Sunday night.”

The father turned in his chair. “Oh, snap out of it, Millie. A joke’s a joke, girl, and it’s nice to have a bit of fun in the house now and again.

“Honestly, this place is getting to be more like a funeral parlour every day. Smile, Millie girl. A lovely smile you had when I knew you first, and a treat it was to see it. A really pretty creature you were, too. Oh, ay.”

Mrs Morgan tossed her head. A trace of a smile appeared on her lips, but when she caught Ieuan’s eye on her, she instantly became straight-faced again.

“And who’s asked you out to tea?” she demanded.

“Frank Jones, he’s a moulder at the foundry,” Ieuan replied. “He and Mrs Jones are expecting me.”

His mother began to show interest.

“Well, that’s very kind of him, very kind indeed. I’m glad you’ve found somebody, Ieuan. It bears out what I said about your soon making friends in the foundry, doesn’t it?

“This moulder, Frank – you did say his name was Frank? – where does he live?” “Prospect Place.” “And what time are you supposed to be there?” “Three o’clock, Mam.” She looked at the clock. “Well, it’s gone half past two, Ieuan, and you’ve got a good step to walk. You’d better hurry, my boy.