‘Okay, okay,’ Mike said, still squeezing my hand.
‘Sorry, I am a little early I know,’ I confessed, pulling free.
He nodded and looked around, preoccupied. I don’t know why but I felt compelled to try to put this man at ease.
‘These guys are professional; they do this all the time. I’ve performed at many of these events – trust me, it will all run like clockwork. Just relax. It will be fun!’
He merely nodded in response.
Yet, I knew deep down I was really trying to reassure myself with my words. My innards always turn to jelly prior to the start of these events. That was the reason I was here so early, to give myself time to process and work through the nerves within the venue itself. The thought of an abusive heckler, a drunk snatching the cards and spilling them all over the floor, or forgetting the card they had chosen, always played on my mind and I needed to visualise it happening to enable me to prepare. But I also knew it was this fear that kept a performance sharp, tight and focused.
‘What will you do? How does it work?’ asked Mike.
‘As in the tricks?’ I replied.
Again he nodded his head in response.
‘Are you having a drinks reception first?’
Another nod.
‘Well, in that case, when people are relaxing with drinks, I will approach their table or group if they are standing and select an individual and ask if they would like to see a trick.’
‘I do not want our guests hassled,’ he injected, looking alarmed.
I had heard this so many times before and replied with my tried and tested response.
‘Understood, and you are totally correct, they should not be harassed.’
He again nodded a response.
‘Generally,’ I continued, ‘it is relatively easy to choose a receptive individual by reading their faces.’
Mike stared at me intently.
‘Really? How do you do that?!’ he asked with interest.
‘Ah, Mike, can’t tell you that, that’s a trick of the trade!’ I teased.
He chuckled and seemed more at ease.
‘I will perform simple, effective close magic card and coin tricks, where a guest feels in control and makes a choice. When dinner is called, I will go to tables between courses and perform again. Obviously, when food begins to arrive, I will move on to another table.’
‘Go on.’
‘After dinner, I will take more time, perform more elaborate tricks; sit with the guests at the table.’
Mike raised his hand to stop me and looked worried. ‘We have a number of speeches at the end of the meal, so I do not think this will be possible,’ he said.
‘That’s okay; I can do these after the speeches.’
‘Well, we have a comedy hypnotist after the speeches, then a disco – I am not sure there will be time…’ He trailed off, thinking as he spoke.
‘We’ll work something out,’ I reassured him.
I wondered who the comedy hypnotist was, and was taken aback that they were actually back in vogue. I presumed their day had come and gone. This is not performer snobbery; I know some people do not like card tricks and close magic, but at least with a trick it is harmless fun and inclusive for all. Not some grubby secret to be used to feel better about yourself at the expense of an unsuspecting other.
‘Okay,’ he replied in a tone that indicated our conversation had drawn to a close.
‘Oh, I meant to ask you, Mike – out of interest, who are the Lombarders?’
Mike and smiled at my question, seemingly pleased to oblige me.
‘We are a group of local businessmen who meet up once a week for dinner and a chat. On top of this, four times a year, we go away for, shall we say, a boys’ weekend, usually somewhere in Europe. It’s not all fun, though! There is a serious side too: we organise Christmas food parcels and an annual party for the elderly. This takes up a lot of time, means we are away from home a lot, raising funds, sourcing goodies. So this event tonight is our way of saying thank you to our partners for all their patience through the year. We also invite friends that we think could bring something to our organisation. A chance before they join, for them to see how we roll. This is the first I have organised, nerve-racking is not the word!’ he added.
‘So, it’s not to appease your partners for your jollies around Europe then?’ I teased.
Mike merely smiled at my suggestion and gave me a wink in response.
Content with the presentation, the banqueting manager left the final table and was striding back toward us.
‘I really need to get on now,’ said Mike, sensing his time was about to be occupied once more. ‘By the way,’ he added, ‘there is a meal for you in the kitchen.’
‘Thank you, I’ll take it later,’ I replied, knowing my nerves would ensure the food would return within the hour if I ate it at this point in time.
I walked back toward the bar, looking around the room as I travelled, running through all the possible issues that could spring forth in this place in the coming hours. Content I had all covered, I headed outside to the van to listen to the football reports while I waited for the guests to arrive.
Within moments of sitting down, turning on the radio and hearing a disgruntled fan bemoaning his team’s poor start to the season, I thought about Cerys.
Our time together had slipped into a routine. I was surprised how quickly, after only three meetings, this had occurred. Even illicit encounters require a level of order, it seems.
I always arrive first; always wait in my vehicle until Cerys is parked up alongside. In the interim period, I am presented with the prospect of listening to Henry’s whining and moaning to be let outside. He knows he is at the beach, he knows why he is at the beach, but cannot understand why he isn’t actually allowed onto the beach.
Why did we persist with this arrangement? I couldn’t be sure of the answer as I sat in the golf club car park. ; oirPerhaps it was what it was – a component of a situation which didn’t make sense, but felt so right.
Whatever it was, on each meeting, in the cocoon of Cerys’ Range Rover, we smiled warmly, hugged and kissed deeply.
We always walked out across the sands, half an arm’s length apart. Although the beach was always deserted, guilt made us keep our distance.
‘I love this beach, Eddie,’ she said happily, while spinning around to take in the expanse of sand, the mountains and the flat line of water.
I smiled to myself, and to Henry, just waiting for his ball to be thrown, anticipating the rush past him and the bounce, bounce, bounce toward the sea.
To add to the moment, the sun broke from behind its morning clouds and I felt compelled to ask a question in this relaxed atmosphere.
‘Cerys?’
‘Mmm?’
‘What does your husband do?’
Cerys stopped walking and looked at me, puzzlement on her face.
‘That’s a strange question to ask, Eddie. Where did that come from?’
I had to agree, it was strange, but it had been with me, eating me up, since that first meeting afterPhoebe had gone.
‘I guess,’ I offered, ‘I was just curious. You said he was successful, I wondered what in.’
‘Are you jealous, Mr Dungiven?’
‘No,’ I lied.
‘Good, because you shouldn’t be.’
We walked together in silence. I knew I couldn’t ask again, knowing it would make me seem jealous. But now that it was out there, it was tormenting me so much that to keep from thinking about it was near impossible.
I turned around to see the footprints left in our wake and strode backwards, and now she spoke.
‘He’s a florist,’ she said.
‘A florist, as in flowers?’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes! As in flowers, what other kind do you know? The only similar word has a “U”a Tin it and would see him playing in an orchestra.’
I noted her rapid and sarcastic response.
‘Just surprised, that’s all,’ I responded.
‘Why?’
‘Because you said he was a successful businessman. It’s not what I imagined.’
‘Huge money to be made in flowers,’ she replied, again rapidly, seemingly defending him. ‘People will always die,’ Cerys continued. ‘Will always have birthdays, people will always screw up and need to say sorry. Perhaps people will always get married – and in all cases, people will always want flowers.’
‘True,’ I conceded.
‘He’s got five shops and wants more, always more,’ she added, deadpan; seemingly in contrast to her earlier revelation of her husband’s career choice.
‘Five?’ I repeated, feeling my inadequacies returning.
‘Yep. That’s where I met him, in his first shop. I went in to arrange a bouquet for my friend’s mother’s funeral; it was apt, being the middle of November – the month of the dead. I was in a rush, miles away from where I lived, and stumbled upon the shop. He took the order and made up the flowers; put them on the counter and started to busy himself with another arrangement. had I asked him if I could pay for the bouquet, I was in a hurry, but he ignored me. Instead he continued to spin roses, carnations and foliage into an ever-increasing creation.
‘Eventually he stopped, stood back and smiled. “That’s £25,” he said. I reached for my purse from my bag and paid him. He handed over the flowers with a smile and I intended to let his bizarre behaviour go without explanation and turned to leave. “Excuse me,” he called. I turned around and saw him holding the second bouquet in front of him. “And these are for you,” he said, peering around the blooms.
‘I said, “I don’t know what to say.”
‘“Thank you is enough,” he said. He then asked for my mobile number, which I, totally out of character, gave to him with a smile and left the shop. After which he texted me in the street, and repeatedly as I drove. I remember it was raining very hard.’
Cerys suddenly stopped speaking.
‘Sounds all very romantic,’ I suggested, not knowing why she had shared this information with me, or why she had stopped her recollection at that point.
‘I was flattered, yes,’ replied Cerys honestly.
She seemed unaware what effect this revelation was having on me. Quite simply, I didn’t want to know any more. Although what could I do – I had, after all, instigated the discussion by asking her about her husband’s line of business.
‘I was in a bad place though, Eddie,’ she added.
‘Oh?’
‘Vulnerable.’
‘I see,’ I replied, though not understanding.
‘My father had died a few months before. I was really close to my dad. I think through the flattery, I saw a bit of my father’s strength and dependability that had been missing for me since he’d been gone.’
‘And he filled this?’ I uttered helpfully.
‘Unconsciously for me, yes. Cole is quite a bit older than me, same build and around the same height as my father was.’
I couldn’t offer anything else. And we continued in silence, less Henry’s desperate panting as he waited to chase the now-soggy, sand-coated tennis ball held in the slingshot again.
‘What about yours?’ Cerys suddenly asked.
‘Sorry?’
‘Your wife, what does she do?’
‘She’s an apiarist.’
‘What, she studies gorillas?!’ teased Cerys.
‘No, she is a b—’
‘A beekeeper! I know what it is, Eddie,’ interrupted Cerys in a curt tone. ‘I really know nothing about bees, but wish I did,’ she continued.
‘Everyone says that!’ I replied.
‘That’s good, proves I am normal then, doesn’t it?!’
‘Cerys, why are we talking like this, about this stuff?’ I bleated out.
She stopped and looked at me, around my face, deeply into my eyes, and concentrated before answering.
‘We get on really well and getting to know each other means getting to know about all aspects of the other’s life. And we both obviously have problems in our relationships or we wouldn’t be meeting here,’ she said softly. ‘I am just trying to be honest, Eddie, something I haven’t been able to be before in a relationship.’
I didn’t answer her.
‘Do you not think I am right?’ she asked, walking again over the sands.
‘Of course you are.’
‘I said before, a few weeks ago, about feeling alive in a relationship. Mine started to go wrong a good number of years ago now.’
‘Did it?’ I asked.
‘Yes, when the age gap between us really started to show. I realised I had married a father figure who had become obsessed with making money and nothing else. That I could take, until a few years ago when my mind, without warning, turned maternal and instinct took over me and nothing could alter my train of thought. I guess ours is a familiar story for eventual breakdown.’
She turned to face me as we walked.
‘Quite simply, I wanted a child, Eddie, but he didn’t.’
She looked at me, wounded, and I struggled with what to say. So, as a man, I opted to remain silent.
After some time, her face regained a level of composure.
‘I am over it now. Well, that’s not strictly true – I am resigned to the fact that it will never happen and clasp resentment close to my heart for him, in a place where love for a child should be.’
I wasn’t comfortable with this conversation, and sensed where it was heading.
‘What about you?’ she uttered predictably.
‘What about me?’
‘Do you have any children, Eddie? Bet you would be a great dad, what with all the bouncy castles and balloon tricks!’
‘No, I don’t,’ I replied flatly.
‘Did you not want any? What about your wife?’
I prepared the answer I had recited before in the face of people’s curiosity.
‘No, nothing like that. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.’
Cerys nodded and looked at me. In the distance, heading toward us, a figure walked with two dogs off their leashes.
‘We best head back,’ I stated, evaluating the situation and for once relieved to see someone else walking on the beach, allowing me to move the conversation away from the current subject.
‘Sure,’ replied Cerys.
We carried on in silence for some time, enjoying the sunshine and breeze upon our faces, until Cerys spoke once more.
‘Eddie, can I ask you something?’
‘Mmm?’
‘If it wasn’t the family issue that drew you to be here, what was it?’
I paused and thought carefully before replying. ‘I don’t know. Guess we just accepted what life had become. We got into the routine you spoke about before. Meeting someone by chance makes you look at it differently. And she is always out tending to her bees, more so than ever these days.’
It was Cerys’ turn to not reply.
‘What’s your wife’s name?’ she eventually asked.
‘Why?’
‘I am just curious.’
‘Sally.’
‘Sally,’ she repeated. ‘Pretty name.’
And with that the heavy conversation slipped away from us, replaced by lists of our favourite foods, drinks and films. It soon became clear Cerys had seen many more movies than I, and we established that her favourite genre was sci-fi. She tried to convince me of the merits of these movies and explain the various time-travel plots that have been threaded throug
h so many blockbusters, all of which went over my head, much to her amusement, and through much laughter she tried over and over to make me understand.
But I know what I know – you cannot turn back time. Things happen and time moves on regardless. And all the while we kept our respective distance from each other.
All this changed again back in the Range Rover. The kissing, whispering and caressing returned and reached a crescendo of abandonment that if witnessed from the outside would have been impossible to deny – but such was our detachment from reality that we scarcely cared.
We had found saying goodbye increasing difficult, with neither wanting to break the moment with the dreaded phrase ‘I have to go.’ That was until today, when Cerys glanced at the clock on her dashboard and announced abruptly that she had to leave. I was quite surprised by this, and she added she was out tonight and was getting her hair cutt by way of an explanation.
With a final kiss, I left the car feeling deflated, the emotion kicking me as I heard Cerys turn the key in the ignition. I worked to keep my disappointment hidden deep within myself. I also wanted to know where she was going and with whom, but knew these questions were not mine to ask and my jealousy must remain leashed. Instead, I sat waving through my cab window as she reversed away prematurely, a cheery smile fixed upon my face, while in reality my mind was beginning to search for what I had done wrong to bring this morning’s liaison to a sudden end.
Now, in the golf club car park, with darkness falling, instead of running through my set of tricks to perform, I found myself sitting in my cab, my mind again pushing a suggestion to the front to be considered as the reason for Cerys’ hurried departure earlier. I concluded with despair that the failure to develop our teenage embraces further was reason enough for her to cut short our time together this morning. A pattern had formed – we kissed and kissed with urgency; then stopped and talked for a time before beginning the cycle again. My inability to be forceful, assertive, to move the relationship forward, to take the lead had simply driven her to make a polite excuse to get away.
The possibility that she actually was visiting Marco’s salon for a booked appointment for a colour, cut and straightening session and had simply lost track of time in my company was suppressed in my mind. My thoughts preferred to spin my imagined failings out of control.
Chasing the Sun with Henry Page 15