Bron-50

Continued from Chapter 49: Bron-49 | ABCtales

Grace pushed open the door of the little church. The Reverend Gwilym Evans was there, straightening the altar cloth, slowly and methodically. So were two women that she recognised from the wedding the day before. They were preparing for the monthly Sunday Communion.

Reverend Evans didn’t look up. Grace cleared her throat. He turned round.

“Oh Grace! And how is married life suiting you? Had your first row yet?”

“Hasn’t exactly been enough time for that, what with everything that happened yesterday. I just wanted to say … to say sorry, for everything. Really, really sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“For Bron, at the reception. She was well out of order.”

“Well, that Bronwyn Jones was always a bit of a wild thing.” Mrs Grononwy-Price came bustling over, dustpan and shovel in hand. “I don’t know what you must think of us here in Anglesey, Grace. You must think we’re a bunch of heathens. Absolute violent heathens.” She let the dustpan clatter to the ground and started to brush the front pew vigorously, her long, thin white arms pumping like pistons.

“Oh, I don’t know that we are,” Gwen. “You get good and bad in all communities,” ventured Mrs Griffiths, kneeling down to polish the brass on the Ross-Williams tomb.

“Well, maybe it’s something in the water at Tan-y-Bryn farm,” said Mrs Grononwy-Price, who had now turned her attention to the pew cushion, slapping it up and down on the stone floor. “But they’re a wild lot, they are.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Grace. A good wedding punch-up; it’s what keeps me young. And I thought there’s be a good chance of one at Tan-y-Bryn. You know, we’ve had some real corkers over the years. Remember the time that those Irish travellers…”

“Really, Vicar! You mustn’t say things like that! What will this poor young lady be thinking of us all…”

“Though I must say, it’s the first time I can recall the bride getting involved, and with her own sister too. That’s certainly one for the record books. A couple of people had those cine-cameras at the reception; I wonder whether any of the action got captured on film…”

“Oh, God – I hope not.” said Grace.

“Well, the sight of Bronwyn Jones dressed up as a meringue chasing her sister round and round the table with that platter above her head, screaming like a banshee – that would certainly be a sight worth seeing again.”

“Vicar! That’s most…inappropriate.”

“I must say, Sian and Nest do have a talent for baking. What survived the trip to the floor was – absolutely delicious. And they must have spent a absolute fortune on pink icing, and as for round the jelly bit on the end…truly inspirational. I mean, apart from the fact that it was four times the size, it could have been the real thing. Absolutely realistic.”

“Vicar! And really, I’m shocked that Sian would even know about such things; I’m sure I wouldn’t have, at her age.”

“She says she modelled it on Bronco’s,” said Grace.

“Splendid! Splendid! Such an enterprising family. But how on earth did they manage to get it inside the hall? She had them searched at the entrance, didn’t she? Surely, she didn’t put it up…”

“No! They brought it in the night before. Put it on the windowsill.”

Mrs Grononwy-Price bustled out of the church, shaking her head in disbelief. Mrs Griffiths followed in her wake.

“Well, Grace, I’m sure you didn’t come here just to apologise for Bron crowning her sister with a novelty cake on a platter. Was there something else? Something you wanted to ask?”

“Well, that was the main reason, actually. But afterwards, in the evening, I made them sit down together. Bury the hatchet.”

“AH! Blessed be the peacemakers. You’ve got your work cut out with that Tan-y-Bryn lot though.”

“Haven’t I just. But I did get them to, well, not exactly kiss and make up, but…agree to a sort of truce.”

“A ceasefire is always a good start…”

“You know, the funny thing is, Sian really admires Bron. I mean, she’s the big sister, she goes off to London, lands a part in a film, drives trains…”

“Gets married to a delightful lady…”

“Thank you. I think a lot of what Sian does is just attention-seeking.”

“Well, she certainly managed that yesterday.”

“Actually, Gwilym. There was another thing. Is there anything you can tell me about Bron and her father? I know that things weren’t exactly…right between them. ? I mean, I don’t want you to talk out of turn, but …you must have heard any gossip.”

“There’s no shortage of that in this place I can tell you. But really…really…I can’t. But, if the stories are to be believed – and stories is all they are – I would say you’re on the right lines. But you’ll have to get it from the lady herself. I really, really couldn’t…”

To be continued in Chapter 51