by S L Ager
‘Cat got your tongue?’ he said, shifting176 even closer.
Jack stiffened against her calf and growled.
‘It’s OK, boy,’ she said automatically, but knew it wasn’t.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the elderly woman from the train.
‘There’s my grandma,’ she said, grabbing her bag and standing up. ‘Oh, and by the way, my dog bites,’ she added, striding177 off towards the woman as the train pulled into the station.
Ignoring what the letter had said, Claire marched straight up to her. ‘Let me help you with that bag,’ she offered. She hoped those boys weren’t right behind her. She hoped they weren’t getting the train to Bangor.
‘Thank you, cariad,’ said the woman as Claire lifted her bag onto the train, Jack hopping up behind her.
Plonking herself down by a window, Claire felt a surprising comfort as the woman sat opposite her again, smiling. Claire returned a brief178 grin, then looked away, discouraging179 conversation and feeling a tad180 guilty at only having helped her in order to dupe181 the boys.
The woman’s features vaguely reminded her of someone. As the empty train pulled away, Claire racked her brains182, sure she knew her yet unable to place her. She patted the seat, and Jack jumped up. Relieved there was no sign of the two boys, she relaxed a little.
Claire’s head whacked the window, and she woke disorientated183. They had stopped at a station with an unpronounceable184 name – Penmaenmawr. Convinced it was Welsh, she sat up, amazed she’d nodded off, and niggled185 because Jack lay opposite her with the woman, his head resting on her lap.
‘Are you all right, Jack?’ He belonged to her today, and Claire made sure this woman knew it. She patted the seat beside her, and he hopped right back. Wide awake now, she began to worry whether Gladys would be at the station. This whole scenario186 was insane187 and increasingly188 scary.
What am I doing here? she thought. Doubt hit her even harder.
As the journey continued, Claire enjoyed the unfamiliar and sedate189 rural190 views. Snaking into a dim tunnel, the train snatched the scenes away, and she marvelled at how this subway191 carved its way through the rock, dissecting192 the side of the mountain. Emerging193 on the other side, she saw undulating194 hills, dotted with grazing sheep, rising to her left, and the choppy195 blue-green sea stretching all the way to the horizon196. The glorious197 sights lifted her spirits198, and for a second, she forgot her predicament199. It felt like the first week of the summer holidays. The sun and Penmaenmawr reminding her of a British holiday town, run-down yet inviting in a bed-and-breakfast kind of way.
The mountains and the sea occupied the view for the rest of the journey. Unbeknown200 to Claire, sighting the Isle of Anglesey and its smaller neighbour, Puffin Island, was a sure sign her arrival in the Welsh city of Bangor was imminent201.
As the train crawled into Bangor station, Claire peered202 through the window, looking for Gladys, but couldn’t see her.
‘Come on, Jack.’ She clicked her tongue and tugged his lead. Looking down at him to avoid saying goodbye to the woman, she grabbed her belongings and left.
As she disembarked203, a fresh, salty breeze whipped up the platform, and shivering, she zipped her coat against the chill. Scanning everywhere for Gladys, she noticed all the signs were written in Welsh and English.
‘Diolch, cariad,’ said the ticket collector as Claire passed between the barriers204, flashing her ticket.
Acknowledging him with a bob of her head, she sighed, relieved Jack hadn’t needed a ticket after all.
‘Cariad’ – had the woman said that on the train? she wondered, still hunting for Gladys. She couldn’t find her anywhere.
‘Where’s the way out, Jack?’ Claire asked the terrier, scouring the station. ‘Come on, boy, it’s this way,’ she said, answering her own question and tugging his lead towards the exit.
As they were leaving, she almost bumped into someone straying205 into her path. She ducked sideways, shocked to realise it was the same man who had sat behind the old lady en route206 to Crewe. Ignoring him, she stared straight ahead, striding on, pretending to know her route. Her skin had bristled207 as he’d brushed by, and for a moment, she thought he was heading for her. Unnerved208, she heaved209 an audible210 sigh of relief as she headed away from him. Then she saw the two boys from the bench, and they were heading straight towards her.
Making an about-turn, Claire hoped there was another exit. The station was emptying, and the ticket collector had gone. She ran back through an open barrier and along the platform towards some steep stairs leading to a bridge that spanned211 the tracks. Not daring to look back, but hearing the boys’ quickening footsteps behind her, she took the stairs two at a time. She sprinted across the bridge and ran down the stairs on the other side, leaping down the last four in one – Jack in tow.
Panic-stricken212 and smothering213 the urge214 to cry, she tried to gain her bearings215, when suddenly Jack pulled so hard on his lead that she lost her grip and let go of him. Off balance, Claire stumbled around to see the woman from the train bent over and petting a wildly enthusiastic216 Jack, whose traitorous217 tail wagged furiously218. Claire glanced around, weak with relief, but the boys had gone. Maybe they weren’t chasing her after all, and she’d overreacted219 because she was alone. She wouldn’t usually feel so threatened by two teenage boys.
The lady spoke in what Claire assumed was Welsh, because the one word she understood was ‘Jack’. Speechless, she watched as he sprang comically220 on all fours, lapping221 his wet tongue over the woman’s face.
Unhurried, the woman straightened and smiled at Claire.
‘Hello, Claire. My name is Anwen, and I am the sister of Gladys.’
‘What?’ Claire stepped back, stunned. Trying to absorb222 this, she stuttered223, ‘What are you talking about? Where’s Gladys?’ she demanded.
The lady carried on smiling at her, Jack’s tail still whirring in frantic circles.
‘See how Jack welcomes me, Claire,’ replied the woman. ‘He knows me.’
‘Hang on. Gladys hasn’t got a sister. She’d have told Ben and me if she did. We’d have met her,’ contradicted224 Claire.
‘Do you think a dog as intuitive225 as Jack would welcome me like this?’ the woman asked gently. ‘Would he have slept by me, Claire? He wouldn’t have taken my food, nor would he have let you take it either if I intended226 harm, cariad,’ she added.
Claire frowned, stumped227 by a happy Jack. Far from fickle228, he wouldn’t take to just anyone. He was a seasoned229 judge of character, engaging230 both his nose and brain. Her resolve231 melted away, unveiling a surprised relief. What choice did she have? She had to trust this woman, for now.
‘Shall we go?’ The woman turned, gesturing232 to the exit.
Claire followed, expecting to be led to a car or a bus stop. Astounded233, she stopped. In the road stood a beautiful pony harnessed234 to a rickety235 wooden trap236. The horse’s long tail swished towards a thick-set, grim237-faced man sitting in the front on a thin bench seat, holding the reins238. Plumes239 of smoke puffed and billowed240 from a stout241 pipe held between his lips; he neither moved nor spoke. Thunderstruck242, Claire’s mouth fell open, and stayed open.
‘Jack will sit with Gwilym,’ said the woman, nodding towards the miserable-looking man as he gathered the reins. Then, with a nimble243 hop, the woman climbed up into the trap like it was her usual mode244 of transport and sat behind the man.
Jack pulled away, his lead slipping from Claire’s hand and dangling behind him. Much to Claire’s astonishment, he jumped up and sat upright on the stern245 man’s lap, ready to go. The old woman held out a hand to Claire, who struggled to climb up. Claire plonked down onto the hard bench, leaving as much distance as possible between herself and the woman. She was neither amenable246 to nor trusting of these people, yet.
The woman reached down and took out a thick, colourful blanket from her voluminous247 bag.
‘We’ll put
this over our feet and knees, cariad.’ She spread it out over them both and tucked it snugly under their legs. ‘Gets a bit draughty248, so it does, especially on the bridge.’
Claire appreciated249 the instant250 warmth seeping through to her legs under the rug.
‘Welsh lambswool woven251 with the finest quality mohair252, there’s nothing works better to warm you through,’ the woman patted her knees, smiling.
The miserable man, who until now had not uttered a peep, scowled253, mumbled something inaudible254 followed by a loud tut, then unhooked Jack’s oversized255 lead and collar. With a look of disdain256, he dropped them both onto the floor in the back of the trap, shouted, ‘Yarrhhh, Lady!’ and tapped the long reins against the pony’s athletic round rump257. With a jerk, they were off, trotting forward into the complete unknown, Jack standing on the man’s lap, nose in the air, his proud figure at the helm258.
3. An Old Betrayal
The colossal1 man driving the trap remained silent, staring steadfastly2 ahead with his canine3 co-driver. He clucked an occasional sound encouraging4 the pony’s pace to pick up, but nothing more.
His sculpted5, chiselled6 features glowed a ruddy7 red, and his hands, the size of shovels, were tinged a purple hue in the chilly air. His Roman nose jutted out from his face at a proud angle above weathered skin mapped with intricate8 veins and craggy9 etchings10. His full mouth and lips divulged11 no emotion12. Claire guessed he might be a farmer; his tweed13 clothes and flat cap looked well-worn and in need of a wash. Despite his frayed attire14, he exuded an indescribable15 air. Claire imagined he’d tolerate16 little nonsense. Jack hadn’t budged17 an inch from this solid man’s lap during the entire journey.
Claire’s equine18 experience amounted to19 nothing, yet she found this unforeseen20 ride exhilarating21. The pony’s coat was the colour of Victorian red brick, yet gleamed as richly as a buffed22, polished chestnut. A muscular, arched neck held a proud, pretty head crowned nobly23 by a long sandy mane. This soft cream trim matched the silken tail, whose flowing ribbons of hair billowed in the wind. Soothed24 by the simple rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the road, her spirits lifted a touch.
So much nicer than cars, she thought as the trap bumped along the deserted road. But where are all the cars? she wondered. It struck her that none had overtaken them. How weird! Is Wales always this quiet? she asked herself.
The road narrowed; a sinister25 dusk fell as gnarled26, twisted trees lined and canopied27 their way. The trap’s wheels sank into deep potholes28, squirting sloppy mud up the sides, spraying the passengers. Claire rubbed at her mouth, spitting out specks of gritty dirt.
As quickly as it had narrowed, the road widened and eased. She stretched her cold, stiff fingers, kneading29 some life back into her creaky, white knuckles. Without moving her head, she swivelled her eyes and snuck a furtive30 glance at the two strangers. What she’d missed on the train became blatantly31 obvious: the resemblance32 between Gladys and this woman, Anwen, her sister. Jack perched on the man’s knee, seeming so content Claire felt certain he’d done this before.
Then, catching her unaware, the road narrowed again, veering33 a precipitous34 curve to the right, then to the left, thrusting her sideways. She held tight, stopping herself from spilling out over the trap’s side. The pony’s shoes skidded on the road, and sparks flew as the metal struck stone. Without warning, the tight, steep zigzag35 then plateaued36 to reveal a vast37 structure of grey metal and stone.
What? Where did that come from? thought Claire as an imposing38 bridge towered39 before them, majestically40 spanning what looked like a huge river. She ogled41 in wonder, absorbing the beauty as they trotted across the open and exposed42 expanse43, the wind whipping in wild gusts past their heads.
‘Hold on to the blanket, Claire,’ Anwen said, pushing flyaway44 strands45 of grey hair from her forehead. ‘It gets blowy up here.’
Claire’s head whirled from side to side, desperate46 to take in the splendid vista47. She gasped, marvelling at the dark, threatening water swirling below her as the rush of salty wind buffeted48 against the steel that supported this feat49 of engineering50. The beautiful curves and arches of this road bridge stood in stark51 contrast52 to the industrial53, functional54 lines of the railway bridge adjacent. It was so stunningly scenic55 she wished she could capture it on a postcard to Ben. All too soon they had reached the end, and straining her neck, she turned back, savouring one last look as the memorable scene melted from view.
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll cross the Menai Bridge again,’ smiled Anwen. ‘Below is the Menai Strait, and now we are on Ynys Môn. That is the Welsh for “Anglesey”, cariad,’ smiled Anwen.
Claire frowned. There’s that odd word again. Maybe it’s Welsh for ‘Claire’, she thought.
She didn’t much care right now as she inhaled56 the fresh air and, momentarily57 banishing58 her woes59, enjoyed the journey. The roads were still deserted, not like in Chorlton, where traffic crawled and constantly queued60. They were trotting gently along a wide, straight stretch surrounded by acres61 of flat green fields when the idyllic peace was interrupted by the distant sound of accelerating62 engines.
Short-lived63 peace, thought Claire as she heard the whine64 of revving65 motorbikes in the distance. Thinking nothing more of it, she soaked up the scenery66, ignoring the two people in the trap. She would talk when Gladys appeared. For now, she remained resolutely67 mute68.
‘Yarrhhh, Lady!’ barked the man brusquely69 at the pony, his tone commanding.
The trap lurched70 as the pony’s pace increased. Anwen tucked the blanket further under her knees, then gripped the side of the trap with one hand, and the bench seat with the other. Jack jumped down from the front, disappearing somewhere under the man’s feet.
Why the sudden hurry? thought Claire. She glanced at the sky; it didn’t look like rain, and neither of them had indicated71 a need to rush, but they were rattling fast along the flat stretch now. No wonder Jack had taken cover; he’d have been catapulted72 off the front seat at this rate.
The clattering of hooves became drowned out by the sound of two motorbikes that had caught up behind the trap. Too proud to overrule73 her self-imposed74 speech ban, Claire frowned, glancing sideways at Anwen as both bikes then accelerated alongside. Fully expecting them to overtake, Claire hoped they’d get on with it. The bikes puffed out noxious75 fumes, and the high-pitched thrum76 of the engine noise was increasingly annoying.
Fully-moulded77 helmets and black visors78 concealed79 the bikers’ faces; judging by their build, Claire reckoned they were male. She’d seen lads like this racing around on similar types of off-road scrambling bikes at home, and she thought they were immature80 too.
Just get going, you pair of show-offs, she thought as they continued revving their engines, riding even closer. But they weren’t moving forward or overtaking. They drove precariously81 close alongside the trap, and Claire saw the bikes didn’t have number plates.
‘Yarrhhh, Lady!’ bellowed82 the man again, and the pony broke into what Claire assumed was a gallop. They shot forward at such speed that Claire was thrust83 against the back of the trap, and she, too, like Anwen, gripped its sides and the bench’s edge.
The thundering of hooves pounding84 the road, the roar of the bikes’ engines and the swerving trap were scary. Suddenly they were hurling85 along the road so fast Claire feared she would fall out. Assuming a horse could never outrun86 a motorbike, she jammed87 her foot against the side of the trap and hunkered88 down as best she could. But the bikes stayed alongside, almost ramming89 into the trap with a precision90 that showed their riders were obviously not a couple of joyriding91 juveniles92.
Deciding to break her silence, Claire shouted to Anwen, ‘What’s happening?’ but her voice was lost in the tumult93. The woman was crouched over, like Claire, clinging on for what seemed like dear life. The trap shook and rattled so much Claire felt it might fall apart and disintegrate94 at any moment, ejecting95 them into the road and the d
irect path of the motorbikes.
‘Stop!’ she screamed at the top of her voice. ‘Stop!’ She didn’t know who she was screaming at, whether it was the man driving the trap or the motorbikes, but she screamed regardless96. She was too scared to cry. This couldn’t end well; she thought she was going to die.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, an ear-splitting noise roared through the air around and above them, decibels97 louder than the screaming motorbikes. A sound so invasive98, so loud, it reverberated99 through the trap. The noise was excruciating. Her ears hurt so much she tried to shield them with her arms whilst still holding on to the careering100 trap.
The thunderous roar came over her head again, soaring101 and fading so quickly above her. Even when she managed a peek, she barely caught sight of what it was. But it was flying, it was fast, and it made the loudest noise she’d ever heard.
Rigid102, tense103 and frozen with fear, Claire didn’t initially feel the trap easing slightly as the pony’s gallop slowed to a canter, then, in turn, slowed to a fast trot. She couldn’t hear where the motorbikes were, because the noise rumbling around the sky was still too deafening.
Her ears were ringing like pealing104 bells when she felt a prodding into her right side. She ignored it at first; then she realised she was no longer being flung around in her seat. The noise in the sky had faded off into the distance, and she saw the motorbikes were gone. The prodding became a gentle shake, and she slowly lifted her head to see Anwen looking concerned and gently holding her by the arm.
Reeling105, Claire tried to make sense of what had just happened. The pony was sweating, and Jack was back at the helm. They hadn’t travelled that far, because they were still moving along the straight expanse of road where the bikes had harassed106 them. There wasn’t a house in sight, and the road was flanked107 on both sides by flat fields, but to their immediate108 right, Claire saw a huge industrial-looking building surrounded by large tarmacked areas. She wasn’t sure what it was, maybe some sort of warehouse109. Could it be a runway? she thought.