The Wrong Boy

by Cathy Ace

Betty’s mind raced. What if Bob did turn up? ‘We’ll help in the pub, if Agata can show us what to do, then we’ll stay the night. You must have somewhere we can sleep. How about that?’

  ‘There’s Mum’s room, I suppose. There are clean sheets on the bed. I did that before the funeral. I don’t know why.’

  For some reason the idea of sleeping in the recently-deceased Nan Jones’s bed didn’t immediately appeal to Betty. She told herself it would be just like sleeping in a hotel bed. It wasn’t as though Nan had died in it, after all. ‘Perfect,’ she said.

  This wasn’t the day Betty had envisaged when she’d woken up. ‘I’m just going to stop at that garage, to see if I can find a few bits and pieces Evan and I might need if we’re not going home until tomorrow.’

  By the time the pair walked into The Dragon’s Head pub, there was a good crowd enjoying a sunny afternoon, Agata and Evan were serving at the bar, and Agata’s sister, Genowefa, was ferrying plates of sandwiches from the kitchen.

  She saw the look of relief on her husband’s face as she arrived. ‘You go on up, Helen,’ she said. ‘You’ll be alright on the stairs, won’t you?’ Helen nodded.

  Rushing to the bar she said to Evan, ‘I’m going upstairs to settle Helen, then I’ll be down. We’re staying the night. In Nan’s old room. Don’t pull that face. We’ll be fine. I bought an emergency toothbrush; we’ll share it. We’ll have to manage with the clothes we’re wearing. Back in a few minutes.’

  She found Helen sitting at the kitchen table. ‘No, not here. I’ll make you a cup of tea if you want, but you should get into bed. Will you need a hand to get undressed?’

  Helen’s eyes focused briefly. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to get my bra off. Would you . . .?’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on, and I’ll be with you in a minute. You go and get started. And don’t worry, I’ve seen it all before.’

  Helen looked a bit wobbly when she stood, thought Betty. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you,’ she said, then left the room.

  With a pot of tea brewing, Betty knocked on Helen’s bedroom door. ‘Ready for me?’

  Helen called her in. ‘I can’t get my socks or my bra off. But I got my nightie over my head.’

  Eventually tucked in, Betty handed her a fresh mug of tea and the tablets the doctor had prescribed. Her charge duly medicated, she said, ‘I’ll be downstairs. If you need anything, or anyone, just phone the pub. Your mobile’s beside you, and it’s fully charged. Evan and I will be sleeping in your mum’s bedroom. I’ll check in on you later, but I won’t wake you. Promise. Now sleep.’ Betty suspected she would; Helen was completely wiped out.

  As she left the bedroom, Helen called, ‘Is Sadie alright? I haven’t seen her. Where is she?’

  ‘I’m sure she’s fine. Don’t worry. I’ll check where she is. If I’m uncertain about anything, I’ll talk to you. Go to sleep.’ Betty closed the door.

  ‘Here I am, what can I do?’ she asked Agata when she entered the bar.

  Agata looked Betty up and down. ‘I don’t know, what can you do?’

  Betty felt somewhat deflated. ‘I can open bottles, pour drinks, possibly use the till, if you show me how to, and maybe even manage to pull a pint – after proper instruction.’

  Agata nodded. ‘Come around. I will show you, then I’ll see how you do. I hope you’re good because your husband is slow, and I need a break. It’s not too busy. We will manage.’

  And manage they did. It was gone eight before Betty really knew what was happening. Her feet were sore, she never wanted to see another half of Guinness – which turned out to be an almost impossible drink to pour properly – and she was fit to drop. Agata took pity on her inexperienced helpers and sent them for a break together.

  ‘Do we have any idea where Sadie is?’ she asked her husband as they sat beside each other at one of the empty wooden tables out in the pub’s beer garden. Below them the wet sands of the beach, and the sea itself, glowed red and purple beneath the breathtaking sunset.

  ‘Haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since she took off to look for Aled this morning,’ replied Evan. ‘Possibly she’s thinking leaving well alone is best? Spending time with her boyfriend?’

  ‘I reckon,’ replied Betty. ‘Anyway, I’m not worried about her. She’ll keep away from here, if she’s got any sense, until she’s cooled off, good and proper.’ She tried to sigh away her stress. ‘My God this view is wonderful. I see what those legends mean about the dragon’s fire on the horizon. What a sunset. Imagine seeing this every day of your life. How inspiring.’

  The couple allowed themselves a few moments of companionable silence to drink in the beauty around them.

  ‘Remember those sunsets we saw in the Caribbean, when the sun just dropped out of the sky?’ said Evan. ‘This is better. Slower, so you can savor it.’

  ‘It’s not as toasty here,’ noted Betty, ‘but you’re right, this is wonderful. Though I have to admit I don’t like the idea of Sadie being out on her own after dark.’

  ‘I have a sneaking suspicion she won’t be alone,’ said Evan gently. ‘Aled’s got his gran’s house all to himself now. Don’t you think a teenage couple would make the most of such an opportunity?’

  Betty reached across the table and squeezed her husband’s hand. ‘I dare say they might want to, but I’m not sure Helen would be in agreement. It’s not our decision to make, you know. It’s between her and Sadie.’

  ‘The girl’s almost eighteen, and it’s not as though it’s illegal. I should imagine many thousands of other teens are getting up to all sorts behind their parents’ backs. After all, Sadie was quite open about what she and Aled had been doing on the beach when she spoke in court . . . sorry, shouted in court.’

  ‘Didn’t you think that was odd? To share so many intimate details, like that?’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  Betty chose her words carefully. ‘I understand she was determined to give him an alibi, and I also understand that he’d been gentlemanly enough to not speak out about their liaison. However, all she needed to do at that time was give the bare minimum of information. The details were quite unnecessary.’

  ‘You’re right, but it turns out this is a family with an interesting relationship with sex.’

  Betty was surprised. ‘Meaning?’

  Evan regaled her with a recounting of the conversation he’d had with Mair Bevan.

  Betty was nonplussed. ‘You just never know, do you?’ And here’s me, with my training, saying that.’

  Evan leaned in. ‘And there’s more. I’ve had a busy day, you know. Liz was here earlier, and showed me some pretty interesting photos.’

  ‘Liz was here? Why didn’t you mention this earlier?’

  ‘When? We’ve been up to our ears in bar work since you got back. This is me telling you, now. She initially intended to check Sadie’s statement, but couldn’t because . . . well, Sadie wasn’t here for a start, but nor was Helen. She’s going to come back tomorrow at nine, and she’ll have an approved adult ready, just in case Helen still isn’t up to being with her daughter when Sadie’s being asked some new questions. Probably at HQ.’

  ‘New questions? About what?’

  ‘Sadie said she’d never seen James Powell before his demise, yet they’ve found photos taken by James on Halloween that suggest that’s not true. A few show a couple of people – grainy, in the distance. I think James was using one of his powerful lenses, but the light wasn’t good. However, it’s clear that one of the figures is Aled Beynon. His hair was still long and almost white back then, before they chopped it all off for the trial. He’s with a female. Sadie. They appear to be struggling with each other. He’s holding her, possibly shaking her. They’re fighting.’

  ‘But all that means is that James Powell had seen Sadie, not necessarily that Sadie had seen James Powell. If James Powell was a long way off, would Sadie have even known she was being photographed, let alone by him?’

  ‘Possibly not, but
there are a couple more pictures which show Sadie, semi-naked, running toward the lens looking very angry.’

  ‘Semi-naked?’

  ‘Topless, hair flying about, wearing lots of necklaces, and so forth. The Concubine’s Pillow is visible in the background.’

  ‘Good grief. That’s . . . quite something,’ said Betty quietly.

  ‘They’re the last photos James Powell ever took.’

  Betty was immediately concerned. ‘We should find Sadie.’

  ‘Want to take a stroll toward Green Cottage with me?’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll tell Agata she’ll have to battle on alone for a little while longer.’ As she stood, Betty told her feet they weren’t sore, but they didn’t listen.

  Helen

  Helen could do nothing but feel; the power of thought, of processing her feelings, had deserted her. Her wrist, arm, and shoulder ached; her head thumped; her stomach cramped. She hoisted herself up to a sitting position, but it took a mammoth effort. The simple act of pushing the duvet off her body required major contortions.

  Finally she sat on the edge of the creaking bed, her feet dangling uselessly. She wasn’t at all sure she could walk. She contemplated phoning down to the bar to ask someone to bring her something to drink, but she didn’t want to be a bother. She slipped her phone into the pocket of her nightie, almost smiling as she recalled mentioning to her mother how she thought it was utterly pointless for a nightie to have a pocket.

  Staggering from one piece of furniture to the next, she made it out to the hall, where she slid along the wall, stumbling. Finally reaching the kitchen, she took an upturned mug from the draining board, sat it in the sink beneath the tap, and filled it with water. She didn’t spill too much taking it to the table, where she flopped into a chair and gulped down every mouthful.

  I’ll be worse than useless in the pub like this, she thought to herself. And there’s no one I can turn to for help.

  She lay her plastered arm on the table, and examined her swollen fingers. She managed to move them all just a little; it didn’t even hurt too much. Cradling her forehead with her good hand, she closed her eyes and let her tears fall freely, hearing each one land on the bare wooden surface with a gentle plop. She was past sobbing. She was surprised she could even cry.

  She jumped violently when her phone rang. She fished about in the folds of her nightie for it, hoping she’d get to it before it stopped ringing. She did.

  ‘Hello?’ Who on earth could it be?

  ‘Hello Helen. Sorry we couldn’t get together for lunch today after all. But I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow instead. It’ll be just like old times, the three of us together.’

  That voice.

  Helen hit the disconnect button and lay the phone on the table in front of her. It rang again within ten seconds. She didn’t answer. She tried to control her breathing.

  It stopped ringing.

  A little ding told her she had a voice message.

  Then another ding told her she had a text.

  Then another, then another . . .

  She realized her entire body was shaking, and she was – unbelievably – sobbing.

  Sadie

  I know he’s got a lot on his plate – after all, Aled felt quite differently about his Grannie Gwen than I felt about Nan and he’ll probably miss her a lot, to start with – but he could at least have set some time aside to be just with me.

  I told him I thought it was unfair, but he said he’d made arrangements to go surfing with Stew, his first time since he got out of prison – then to eat with Stew and his family; he thought he’d have a free afternoon and evening, and lots to think about having spent lunchtime with me, Mam, and Dad. And he’d have been right, of course, if only everything had gone to plan.

  But I’m good at dealing with the unexpected – good at turning a problem into an opportunity. I know that, and so does he. So I brought myself back here, to my special, secret place, and no one’s any the wiser. I feel so completely connected to my spiritual self here, it’s wonderful. And the sunset tonight was spectacular. Good one, dragon.

  There’s just a little bit less than a full moon tonight; waning gibbous, but she’ll have grown to be nearly full again by May 27th; my birthday, and St Melangell’s Day. It could be better, because a truly full moon is always more powerful, but it’ll do, I suppose.

  It was a full moon on November 5th – I’ll never forget that. Such a special night. A night of absolute transformation. Of metamorphosis. So much extra power to call upon for me, and for Aled. The moon shone so I didn’t miss anything. She’s wonderful. It was worth waiting after Halloween until she was full again for that final transformative act; I’m not sure he felt the same way, but it was important to me. I made that crystal clear to him, several times, though he kept begging me to let it be otherwise.

  Mum’s in a state. I’ve thought about what she said; maybe there’s some truth in it. But if it is all true, and if she really doesn’t want to be in the same room with Dad, how will I make our family perfect? She’ll just be jealous of me and Aled all the time, and the Dad thing will always be between us. How can I fix that? How can I fix Mam?

  I would ask Aled about it, but it would be difficult for him to understand, because he hasn’t had a mother for a long time. Mothers are a heavy burden; even though she said she was sad Nan died, I’ve seen Mam change since then. She’s started doing things a bit differently in the pub, and she’s even cut back on eating bad things, and is getting out and about a bit more, walking around the village, when she can. So I think she’s really a bit glad Nan’s gone. Deep down.

  Now there’s this. With Dad. What’ll I do?

  Why isn’t Aled answering my texts? Surely he’s got a few minutes, even if he is having a jolly old time with the Wingfields. I bet Maggie is stuffing him with all her organic, grain-fed thingymebobs.

  I suppose it’s late enough for me to go home now. I expect Mam will be fine about me having that little outburst earlier on today. She always forgives me, though why she didn’t want my nice scarf, I don’t know. Aled gave it to me after we’d had a row in school one day. It’s very attractive.

  Oh no, there are those two old farts, Betty and Evan Glover, shouting for me now. What are they up to, coming toward my path, calling my name like that? I’m not a dog, or a little kid.

  Oh well, I suppose I’d better go back to the pub.

  Helen

  Helen dragged herself from a fitful sleep.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Betty was hovering just inside the bedroom door.

  Helen managed a groggy, ‘Not too bad, thanks. Is Sadie alright? Maybe she could pop her head in before she goes to bed? I’d like to apologize to her for being so nasty earlier on today.’ The fight had been preying on her mind.

  Betty was holding a cup of tea. ‘Time enough for that. I thought a cuppa with your tablets would be a good idea. Don’t worry about Sadie. She’s been out for a bit of a walk and she’s on her way back now. Evan’s gone to meet her as she comes down the path. It’s dark, and he doesn’t want her to hurt herself.’

  Helen forced her mouth to form words. ‘She’s good on the paths. No problem. Maybe see her later.’ She swallowed her tablets with a drop of tea. It was hot; it felt good. Although her stomach felt cavernously empty, she knew she couldn’t face food.

  Betty perched on the foot of the bed and said, ‘Mair came over to see you this morning, before church. While we were at the hospital. She and Evan had a bit of a chat.’

  Helen gathered her thoughts, as best she could. ‘Oh yes, I wanted to talk to Mair about Mum, and Gwen.’ She felt if only she could sit up she’d be able to focus better, but she seemed to be caught up in her sheets.

  ‘Here, let me,’ said Betty, unwinding the sheet and duvet.

  Helen was grateful for her help. ‘Thank you. Can Mair come to see me now?’

  Betty shook her head. ‘It’s a bit late for someone over ninety to be out and about, I’d have thought. But
she did tell Evan what your mum and she talked about. I could tell you, if you like.’

  Helen desperately wanted to know how her mother’s last morning had been filled. ‘Please.’

  ‘Well, it might not help much, because what she said doesn’t seem to make much sense, to me. What Mair said was your mum believed your dad had been having an affair with Gwen, and told Mair that she’d seen them together on the night of New Year’s Eve 1999.’

  Helen felt a peculiar sinking sensation as she recalled her mother’s words to her in the car that day. ‘Yes, Dad and Gwen . . . Mum said that to me too. I think it’s all rubbish, but I don’t know why Gwen wanted me to see Mair.’

  Betty replied, ‘Mair said your dad couldn’t possibly have been with Gwen that night because Gwen was with her at the time. Gwen had a rather bad case of the flu and was staying with Mair, you see. So there, maybe that will help you sleep a bit better. It seems your mum got hold of the wrong end of the stick; she told Mair she saw your dad dressing himself in the bedroom window of Gwen’s cottage. However, Gwen wasn’t there at the time. So you have nothing to worry yourself about.’

  Helen’s sluggish brain juggled the information. Of course her mother had got it all wrong – she often got things wrong. She’d always been blind to the detail, the nuances surrounding her. But how could she have got it so wrong? Had she imagined Jack Jones, in a bedroom window, getting dressed? Helen struggled with it all. She felt drained.

  ‘Now come on, time to snuggle down and let those tablets do their work,’ said Betty, standing, and pulling the bedclothes up around Helen’s chest. She was a bit over-fussy, but Helen couldn’t complain. She was especially thankful that the Glovers were going to stay overnight.

  ‘Okay,’ replied Helen. As she tried to find a comfy spot on her pillow she realized that tomorrow would soon arrive, and with it the prospect of seeing Bob. She hoped the tablets would be strong enough to allow her a dreamless sleep.

  22nd April