by Nell Grey
“Can you give me an update?”
“Sure,” he says a little stiffly. “If you like, I can show you where he… where it happened?”
I’m glad of the chance to get out of the house.
“Hold on, while I get my coat.”
We set off across the yard and he seems to relax a little.
“You get home often?”
“No. Not much at all. I’ve been busy with work,” I answer a little guiltily. “I don’t get much time off.”
“Your mother says you were living in New York?”
“Yes, for three years. I’ve lived in London, mainly. After uni, I never came back.”
I pause; then add by way of explanation, “There wasn’t much keeping me here.”
“Your father? Did he ever try to get help?”
I’m not sure how much he knows.
“You mean medical?”
“For his depression.”
That’s what this is about. His reticence. He’s fishing about Glyn.
I’m not going to sugar-coat it. The policeman needs to hear the truth.
“Glyn was ill. He was bi-polar and that’s a difficult condition for anyone to manage. But, my father was a nasty bastard too.”
The detective's eyes widen.
“In what way?”
I can tell Mam’s not told him. Typical.
“You didn’t want to cross him when he was drinking heavily. And Mam, me, even the poor old dog, got the scars to prove it. I can show you if you want?”
“Did you ever report it? Call the police?”
The look on my face, answers the question for him.
He changes tack.
“Did he ever try to kill himself before?”
“No idea. Mam would never have told me.”
“No?”
I find myself staring at my nails.
“No. She… uh… she likes to keep things private. That’s part of the problem.”
If we didn’t talk about it, it never happened.
“So, people ‘round here didn’t know what Glyn Evans was really like? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Pretty much. His mates in The Cross Keys, bet they said he was the life and soul of the party. A real character.”
“Did your dad go into town often?”
“Why?”
“Just establishing his routines, that’s all.”
It’s a bit of a random question. I’m getting the sense that this isn’t just a casual chat.
“He went every week. Since Mam retired, they do a trip into town together for supplies on market day. He liked to go to the mart to see his farmer buddies, while Mam did the shopping.”
“Your mother seems close to Jac?”
“We’ve known Jac for years. Lived in that static over there as a kid.”
I point to the ramshackle mobile home at the far end of the track. It probably needs scrapping by now.
“And, do you know a Callista Jones?”
“Yes.”
Again it’s unrelated. How did he know Callista?
“She’s Jac’s mother. Lives in London. She stayed with me the night I found out about Dad.”
The detective scribbles in his pad.
“Hmm… that explains the call. You’re still in touch.”
He’s not making much sense.
“So, where did it…?” I ask, looking around.
“There.”
He points up to the old grey beam.
“How?”
“With a rope. He used a stepladder to climb up. Then, kicked it away.”
I stare coldly at the space.
I feel nothing. Just the chill from the realisation that death has happened here.
“Was your dad ever in the navy?”
“No. Why?”
The detective stares up at the beam as he floats the question.
“The knot he used. It’s not a common one.”
“He was a practical man. Had to be, farming this place. And bloody-minded too. If he decided he wanted to end it, he would’ve planned it out. Found the best knot.”
“Planned it enough to have thought about the rope?”
“I imagine so. Why?”
“It was a specialist climbing rope, that’s all. Strong enough to hold his weight.”
“Yes. Glyn would have thought through the details. Made sure he did it properly.”
The detective turns and stares at me searchingly.
“Why then, d’you think he was still wearing his slippers?”
“If he was gonna end it, why would he care what he was wearing?”
“Fair point.”
He turns to leave the shed and I follow him out.
“The post-mortem results show probable cause of death as hanging. There’ll be an inquest, but the coroner should release the body soon.”
Back to reality, and the practical matter of dealing with Dad’s body, and the funeral.
Ellis Roberts leaves me by the farmhouse door. I blustered through his questions, but what he’d said about the climbing rope doesn’t sit right. It wasn’t Dad’s style.
Something’s off, but I won’t be losing any sleep over it.
◆◆◆
Mam’s looking pale, I think, as we eat supper together.
She’s pushing the food around the plate and has been chewing the same mouthful for an age.
“Come on, Mam. You’ve lost weight since Christmas. You need to eat.”
“Don’t you be worrying about me, cariad.”
A lump forms in my throat when I hear her use the Welsh word for ‘love’. No one calls me ‘cariad’, except her.
“You’re looking thin.”
“I’m fine.”
It’s the same steely impenetrable wall I’ve faced for years.
“Okay, Mam. What do I know? You’re the nurse.”
I thought Dad's death might have changed things. But no, the defences are back up again. Something’s going on with her too, I’m sure of it.
I take our plates over to the sink.
“I’m going out after.”
The bowl fills with hot soapy water.
“I’m gonna see Jac. For a catch-up.”
“About time too.”
She grabs a tea towel to dry the dishes.
“He took his letters back, Annie.”
“What?”
The top of the dresser's clear. I hadn’t even noticed that they’d gone.
“When?”
“The day you arrived.”
“You were too hard on him for all those years. Remember, Annie; you left too.”
◆◆◆
“Fancy coming out for a drink?”
As I stand at the door in front of him, my traitorous heart skips a beat.
He’s surprised to see me.
“Yeah, okay,” he says huskily.
I must have woken him up. Or, maybe I’ve called it wrong, and he was only being polite? He didn’t mean it when he said to come over and see him.
Nervous, my mouth rattles on, “I figured it was safer to go out, than stay here drinking your mother’s elderberry homebrew.”
I instantly feel my cheeks redden, and my pulse races as his mouth forms a quizzical smile.
Dammit! Now, he thinks I’m chasing him.
The pub’s busy. It’s Friday night and there’s a crowd in for food.
Jac stands by the bar trying to get served, and I use the opportunity to check my phone and emails. It’s annoying that this is the only place where I can do that. It doesn’t take long. No one’s called, and there’s nothing of interest in my inbox.
Jac comes back from the bar, placing two pints of real ale on the table. And suddenly, I’ve absolutely no idea what to talk about.
“How’s Maureen doing?” he asks, kicking off the convo.
It’s as good a place to start as any, and I don’t pull any punches.
“I’m worried about her, Jac. She seems different.”
“We both k
now why that is.”
He understands the tensions of living with my father’s unpredictable mood swings.
“I mean, she’s warmer with me than she’s been in years. But, there’s something she’s hiding from me, Jac… D’ya think she’s lost weight?”
“Hard to tell, ‘cos I see her most days. But, now you mention it, yes she has.”
“And she’s tired all the time… what if she’s sick?”
“Don’t worry. It’s sure to be all the stress and grief. She’s mixed up too. She must have loved him. She stayed with him for all those years.”
What he says makes perfect sense.
“The police came to see me today. A young detective.”
“Ellis Roberts?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“He spoke to me too… What did he say?”
“Couldn’t work out why Dad used climbing rope to hang himself.”
Jac pulls a face, but I shrug it off.
“Ah well. That’s my dad for you. Nothing was ever straightforward. The post-mortem confirms suicide.”
“It’ll be better once the funeral’s been.”
“That’s what everyone says.”
Jac looks down into his pint glass.
“So, how’s Callista? You see her more than me.”
I can’t help but smile.
“She says hello... She tells me that you used to ask about me.”
“It was the only way I could find out how you were. You never answered my letters. Or even bothered to read them.”
There it is. The sucker punch. He’s still angry with me.
I play nervously with a beer mat, as his judgement weighs down on me. Words dry up and we both resort to drinking our beer.
Finally, he breaks the drought.
“Game of pool?”
As the pub closes, we walk slowly back along the lane towards the cottage. We’ve had a nice time, and I’m surprised. I thought it’d be more difficult. Playing pool helped, even though he pretty much thrashed me every game.
Reaching the cottage, I turn from him to go up the footpath through the fields. It’s a muddy shortcut back to the farm.
“See you, Jac. You’ve gotten a whole lot better at pool, since I saw you last.”
He gazes down at me, wrapped up in my padded coat and woolly hat.
“Wanna coffee?”
The invitation comes out of nowhere. Even Jac looks shocked he’s said it.
I think about it for a second. We do need to clear the air, even though the safer thing would be to go home.
“Alright… A coffee’d be good.”
As Jac goes through into the kitchen, I sit on that same old chesterfield. The fire has just about kept in and the place is cosy. I place some kindling on it and rake it with the poker until the orange embers reignite, bursting into yellow flames.
Grazing my knuckles over the mustard Welsh tapestry blanket, its woollen harshness on my skin jolts me back to the time I was here last.
The place is different now, though. It’s cosy. The living room is freshly painted and there are radiators. And the back wall is covered in black-framed pictures, mainly of birds.
Walking over to one, my breath catches. Another lapwing. Identical to the one he drew for me.
“Your favourite bird,” he says softly, behind my shoulder.
I shudder and turn. He’s holding our coffees.
“You still draw?”
“Yeah. A bit.”
“That’s good… I’m sorry about your lapwing.”
He looks at me puzzled.
“The one you drew for me? I ripped it up, together with your letter, when I was mad at you.”
“You still mad at me?” he rasps.
“No,” I breathe. “Not anymore.”
“That’s okay, then. I can pop them out to order. You can have that one if you like?”
“I daren’t risk it.”
He sets down his coffee, and I go back to the sofa.
“Excuse me for a minute, while I go and see if Jess is alright?”
“Jess?”
It never even occurred to me that he might have a girlfriend. Why didn’t Callista tell me?
His face breaks into a smug grin.
“Jess… my dog.”
I smile down at my coffee, embarrassed for the jealous wave that washed over me. And for being so easy to read.
“I should go.”
The dog gives me an excuse to leave, but I don’t want to either.
“Stay. I’ll be two seconds.”
“Can I use your bathroom?”
“Yeah, sure. Upstairs on the left.”
Putting my coffee down, I go through to the kitchen. He’s put in new units and the wooden worktops are spotless and clear.
I drift upstairs to use the toilet. It’s a man’s bathroom. There are no female items in the cabinet.
There are two bedrooms, and the door to one is open.
His bedroom?
The bed is immaculately made. Smooth and tightly tucked in. All his clothes are stowed away. Army training, I presume.
Then, I catch sight of them. On top of the chest of drawers lie a neatly stacked pile of letters.
His letters to me.
All those years that they’ve sat unopened on our kitchen dresser. Like a battle of wills, Jac versus me. And suddenly… now… I have an overwhelming urge to read them.
Deep down, I know it’s because he doesn’t want me to.
Listening out to make certain that he’s not back, I steal impulsively into the bedroom and snatch the top letter, stuffing it hastily into the back pocket of my jeans.
At least I will read one, I convince myself.
Moving swiftly back down the stairs, I sit on the sofa waiting for him, slightly out of breath but casually drinking my coffee as he comes back in.
“I should go, Jac.”
I conceal the letter in my back pocket with my coat.
“Let me walk you back.”
"Don't be silly. Anyhow, I like the dark.”
I’m a little disappointed that he doesn’t try to persuade me to stay.
“You sure?”
His deep chocolate eyes are gazing down at me again.
“Absolutely. It’s just me, the owls and the stars.”
“I’ll show you around the farm tomorrow morning if you want?”
“I’d like that.”
I squash down the guilt, and an impetuous urge to kiss him. The electricity between us; it’s thrilling and terrifying. Does he still feel it too?
“Annie, I’m sorry for leaving you.”
My eyes fill up in spite of my resolve, and I look away.
“It’s okay, Jac. I understand now that you had to go.”
I make a hasty exit too.
CHAPTER 7
---------✸---------
I can hardly wait to get home. It’s late and Mam’s already in bed; so I creep around the kitchen, getting a knife and slicing open the envelope.
Why did I leave it so long to read his words?
September 25th, 2007
Dear Annie,
I hope that this has got to you before you leave for uni. If it hasn’t, Happy Christmas!
I haven’t been able to write to you sooner because I’ve been on my first ten-week block of training. And it’s been hard. I thought I was fit, but you’d never believe the things they’ve been having me do. I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s tough, Annie. And if you fail. I can tell you, it’s not worth failing. So, I try to keep my head down and get on with the job.
So far, I’ve passed everything with flying colours. And, you know what? Even though it’s bloody hard work, I’m really enjoying being in the army, most of the time. Cal would have a fit if I told her that. But, I’ve got a great bunch of lads with me. And we stick together and help each other get through the stuff that they keep throwing at us.
It’s dead strict here. A bit of a shocker for the free-ranging son of an eco-wa
rrior, like me. And Sion, my best mate, is the same. The poor sod’s been in children’s homes since he was twelve. At the start, he put on a big front, like he was this tough guy who’d been on the streets, seen a bit of action. And Boss Man, our corporal, had his eye on him.
Last week, Boss Man caught him shooting his mouth off, and he had him spending all of Sunday cleaning the toilet block with a toothbrush. But, we both went at it. When everyone else had some R&R, Sion and me were on our hands and knees scrubbing all day long. That was a bitch. But he’s back in the clear, and he’s learned to keep his mouth shut when Boss Man’s about.
I think of you, Annie, all the time. Especially at night. I think about our ledge; the mountains and the sunsets. Of us curled up watching a film. And of us together that night.
Thinking about seeing you again keeps me going.
Now, for the big stuff. I’m embarrassed to write this, and if you EVER take the Mick out of me, I’ll never say it again.
Annie, I love you. I always have and I always will.
I’m pretty sure that you’re still mad at me for going without telling you. I’m sorry. That night was perfect, I couldn’t spoil it by telling you I was leaving.
The army’s good for me. Running around, doing fitness and learning new stuff. It's exciting. Cal freaked out about it, but I was never brainy enough to go to uni, unlike you (smarty pants). And when Cal started talking about going back to the commune for a bit, I went into town and joined up, there and then. And I’m glad I did.
Trust me, Annie. Just because I’ve left the farm, doesn’t mean that we can’t be together. I hope you can still be my girl, because no matter what, I’ll always be there for you.
And we can see each other when I get leave.
I could come up to see you at uni?
I’ve written down my address.
Please write and tell me that everything’s still good between us.
I’ll be waiting for you, Annie.
Always.
Love you,
Jac x
I reread the letter over again.
And then again.
I find this out now? After all this time.
Argh! What an idiot I’ve been!
My stupid temper and my stubborn pride meant that Jac slipped through my fingers.
I glance up with a start.
Mam’s standing there in her nightie, ashen-white in the door frame.
“What you doing up?”