Broken Ghost

by Niall Griffiths

  —I know, I know, I’m just so impulsive, like I saw it online and I was like you know what? Time to go up there. Time to see for myself? Spur of the moment but that’s just what I’m like.

  God, them voices. I get another flash of memory – being on the beach in Aber – but it only lasts a split second. Don’t know why that voice should bring it up but it does.

  And what have you been doing, lad. What the fuck have you been at. Why did you fucking … it had been years, years. You were settled. ‘Happy’ is not the right word, no, but you weren’t a fuckin wreck, were yeh? You’d rebuilt yerself. You were a thing, a person, in your skin, with emotions, and thoughts, and, and, fuckin empathy, or something like it. You were seeing the complexity as something wonderful. And you shat on it all. You fucked it all up. That’s what yeh did.

  Spiritualised, now: ‘Do It All Over Again’, and somehow the DJ blends the two songs seamlessly, which is impressive, the way he finds the echoes between the two beats and rhythms; definitely not something I could’ve done, meself. An I fuckin love this song. I close me eyes and just focus on it an then before I know it I’m out of the car and walking towards the lights and can smell all kinds of, what, good things, the smells of leaves and flowers and stuff and a kind of coolness, how can that be experienced in the nose, but it is and I suppose it must be coming off the lake. I walk down the row of cars. People pass, on foot. They overtake me cos I’m walking slow. Some say hello to me. I know that things are moving through the air above me – birds an moths an bats. I see a sign, a home-made wooden sign like, with candles on it to light up the words painted on:

  llyn y weledigaeth

  croseo pawb

  Around it stand three shapes, lit up by the candles and lanterns and by the lights from the shore behind them and I see their silhouettes and know that they are women; them shapes, man. They’re standing an talking and laughing and those sounds, mingling with the music – I feel the urge to run towards the lights and the flames. But I don’t cos I’d look a bit of a dick.

  —Adam.

  Was that my name? The woman-shapes have gone quiet and seem to be looking at me although I can’t tell properly cos the main light is behind them so they’re in shadow. The candles and lanterns show up bits of their bodies but I can’t see their faces.

  —Ey, Adam.

  One of them is saying my name. I stop. I make a shelf of my hand over my eyes as if that’s gonner help me see any better.

  —It’s Jess. Sally’s girl.

  That voice out of the face in shadow. I see black curls and then some jewellery glinting as a hand raises a bottle up towards them curls.

  —Ey, Jess. You just got here?

  —Na. Been here a few days, we have. It’s am-ay-zin. You just arrived?

  Jess. Sally’s daughter. Last time I saw her was at a pro-EU /anti-austerity rally in the town; she was standing by a shopping trolley full of cans for the food bank. Had a placard which she told me she’d made herself; drawings of Johnson and Rees-Mogg all bent over to snuffle at a trough. It was good. Left-wing politics in a miniskirt; nothing sexier, man.

  —Last time I saw you, she says, and a finger with lots of rings on it comes out of the shadows to poke me lightly on the chest, —you were flat out on the prom. On a bench, like.

  The fires are in me face. I’m glad it’s night-time. I want to run, again, but for a different reason now.

  —I must’ve been asleep.

  —Na, you were pissed. Clinging onto a bottle, you were.

  Aw Christ. What the fuck have you been at, lad.

  —But you’re alright now, aye?

  She leans forwards, at the waist. The other two don’t, they remain shadowed, but Jess puts her face into the lightness between us and the fires are orange on one side of her face, on the cheek-bulge beneath her eye, and the one dimple I can see is deep enough to hide in. Aw fuck. She asks again:

  —You’re alright?

  —I think so, I hear meself say. Twice Jess’s age, I am, but I feel half of it, now. Half her age and half her size.

  —Don’t worry about it, hun. You’ll be alright up here. It’s am-ay-zin, it is. My mam’s somewhere over yur, on the beach, last I saw. She’d love to see you, she would. Been talking about you.

  —Alright. Ta.

  And then I’m moving away from Jess and towards the brighter lights. I can see it all more clearly now; the fires and the people around them, the flatbed truck with the decks and speakers on, the oil drums burning, dogs leaping across the flames. Hear it all, too; the track now is one I don’t recognise but it’s got a brilliant lifting beat and behind it all is laughter, a lot of laughter, and shouting and yelling, completely without aggression. Lots of people – hundreds. Must be. They are scattered up the bank and the ridge and above the ridge is the big moon. A flock of birds flies across it. I move closer towards it all and it feels like I’m, what, shedding things, leaving them behind, like a snake with its skin; dropping stuff off meself to leave in a trail behind me. I hear Jess and her mates burst into sudden laughter and, God, this is the mountain I’m on top of; the mountain, the ridge. It’s returned. I mean I have; I’ve returned. What’s gonner happen up here.

  COWLEY

  Fuck me mun look at all iss an for what? Jes-a rising sun, that’s all it was. Fuss about fuck all. Jes-a fuckin blob-a light in-a sky, rising sun or whatever that twat on-a telly said it was, ghost or summun. Ghost. Ghost be fucked it was jes-a rising sun. I know cos I saw it.

  But Jesus Christ, tho … look at it. Yur’s all fires an people on-a beach an a feller on-a decks an I can hear a jenny thumping an yur must be thousands-a fuckin people, an eyr all runnin about an laughing eyr heads off an dancing. Some are on-a lake in a boat an I can hear em singing. Life is jes a dream, that’s what eyr saying. Loads-a dogs running and jumping about, kids, oldies, some of em using crutches, in fucking wheelchairs, even, one-a two. One feller comes past me on his sticks an A see that he’ve only got one leg, the poor cunt, and he’s not old; youngish feller. Someone else, a woman iss time, comes by with a stick n all, but it’s a different kind-a stick, a white one that she’s tappin on-a ground like cos she’s blind. Got some sunnies on and it’s night-time but it’s not dead dark cos of all-a fires an lights n stuff. It’s all jes fuckin mad. A know that fuckin lodger showed me bits on his screen like but being up yur is not the same. As jes seeing it on-a screen A mean.

  A go down onto a bit of-a beach, where-a biggest fire is. Some black shape against-a flames says Shwmae Cow and A say Ello back at him even tho A don’t know who he is. Didn’t recognise-a voice, like. It’s not cold up yur but A sit down next to-a fire. Don’t know why. Some feller, shaven head cos A can see-a light reflectin off it, says:

  —Need a drink, son? Go a can could yew?

  A nod me head an he passes me one.

  —Yur yew go, brar. Welcome.

  Brar. Cunt called me brar. But A jes tell him diolch an he holds his own can out at me an A knock mine against it.

  —Just arrived, is it?

  A nod me head again.

  —Well. Croeso, man. Welcome up here.

  A wanner speak to him, ask him something, A don’t know what, jes something about what-a fuck is going on, but he moves away so A turn me back to-a fire an drink me beer an look out at-a lake. People are in it, splashin. Jeez, some people are being fuckin baptised; eyr being tipped backwards under-a water an then lifted out again splutterin by some other buggers dressed in white. A see things on rocks; babies’ shoes an hats, scarves, gloves, little crosses made out-a sticks. Some people walk past me, into-a lake, an A see that eyr not wearing shoes or socks an some of eyr feet are bleedin. One feller with a big mad white beard comes out of-a darkness carrying a cross over his shoulder; a big one, like, not a little one, looks like he’ve made it himself out of fence posts or somethin. A woman who’s walkin with him stops, takes off her shoes, puts pebbles in the shoes an then puts em back on again an carries on walkin. What the fuck? What’s she do tha
t for? Daft bint. Must be fuckin agony, mun.

  All iss stuff is going on. An yer’s-a music n all, an-a hundreds-a people, running around mad or sitting around-a fires or doing little dances to-a music. It’s, it’s, it’s jes fuckin mad. An what the fuck for? All it was was-a rising sun. An all this stuff going on, iss, iss craziness … it’s fuckin amazing, it is. Never thought it’d be like iss up yur. Iss is am-ay-zin, aye.

  EMMA

  Christ almighty. Did I do this? Am I responsible for all this? I turn to Bas and ask him the question but he doesn’t hear me cos he’s just gazing, like, just looking around in a kind of wonder. So I ask him again, and give him a nudge with me elbow:

  —Bas.

  —What?

  —Did I do this?

  —Do what?

  —All of this. All these people. Did I kick all this off?

  —I suppose you did, kind of. Yeh. It was you that got the ball rolling. With that blog.

  God. God. I see it all – the people and the fires and the lights, and I hear the noise, and I smell all the smells, and I feel like, I dunno, the conductor of an orchestra or something – all this huge, amazing movement and I’m responsible for it happening. I kicked it all off. Well, me an that glowing shape … I suppose, really, that I should be feeling some kind of powerful way or somethng but I don’t; I just feel in a kind of trance, that’s all. And thank fuck that my digital footprint is a small one and I never put any images of meself up on me blog pages or Facebook or anything cos if I did then maybe I’d be getting mobbed or something now like a film star or a singer. Maybe they’d all go into some kind of mass hysteria and rip me to shreds or crucify me. I dunno. I don’t know anything, it seems. This is all too much to take in.

  —Em. I’m gunner have a look around, alright? Just have a wander. You’ll be alright on your own?

  Bas also looks kind of stunned; the pupils of his eyes are huge but sort of empty as well, and I can see tiny fires reflected in each one. And I know exactly how he feels; for some reason I need, at the moment, to be on me own up here. I need to wander through it all, take it all in, at my own pace and in my own company.

  —I’ll be fine.

  —It’s safe up here. You’ll be alright up here. If you need me then comen find me, okay? Or give me a bell. Think you can get a signal up on the ridge.

  Which is a daft thing to say because if the only place we can get a signal is up on the ridge then we won’t be able to call each other unless we’re both on the ridge and then what would be the point of calling each other? But that seems unimportant.

  —Alright. Thanks, Bas.

  —What for, cariad?

  —For bringing me up here, like. And for looking out for me back down there.

  —Ach. He flaps his hands. —No bother. I should be thanking you for making all this happen. I’ll see you later.

  We go off in opposite directions, him towards the ridge. I look up at it and see people on it, beneath a big moon. Some of them are dancing. That was where I stood. Where we stood, me and those two blokes – the nutter and the other feller. Seems a fuckin age ago now. Some of the people on the ridge are women – that shape. Bits of them shine blue in the moonlight, and then a big puff of smoke from one of the beach fires rises up and hides them and I feel something warm and wet nudging my hand and I look down. It’s a dog. Smiley scruffy sheepdog with a waggy tail.

  —Hello, boy.

  I ruffle his ear and his tongue comes out. Makes me think of Waldo which makes me think of my mam and dad which makes me think of Tomos so I crouch down and start talking to the dog which he seems to like. His entire body shakes in something a bit like happy delirium.

  —He’s not bothering you, is he?

  I look up. An older woman is smiling down at me. She’s got loads of hair.

  —Oh no, not at all. The opposite. I like dogs, me.

  —He’s not usually this friendly. Taken a bit of a shine to you for some reason he has.

  She takes hold of his collar with, I notice, a hand that’s missing a couple of fingers. Farming accident or something, must be. But when I stand up she rubs sweat off her forehead with the back of her wrist and pushes her hair up and I see that she’s got a big scar there, big dent in the bone. I’m guessing car crash. But there’s a thing that comes off her, a feeling sort of; I don’t know what it is but it makes me think that she’d be a good person to spend some time with. I just know that I’d enjoy being with her, like. Her and her happy dog. Whose head I pat again.

  —He likes you, he does.

  A tall young man comes up behind the woman. Must be her son, I suppose, although he looks nothing like her, but she gives him a grin as if she’s dead pleased to see him. Tomos again – with another little twinge in the breast, an ache like, between the boobs.

  —What’s his name?

  The young man says something that sounds like ‘R2’.

  —Like in Star Wars?

  —No no. And then he says it again.

  —Say again, slower?

  —Arrn. Two.

  —Strange name for a dog.

  —There’s a reason behind it, says the woman, and then, to the dog: —Say bye to the nice girl.

  —You’re off?

  —Have to be. Been up here since yesterday.

  —We have to find my uncle, says the lad with this kind of intense stare and I see him, properly, for the first time; there’s something, er, what, un-normal about him. Can’t quite put me finger on it but there’s something a bit out of the ordinary going on with him, the way he talks, in his eyes. But he’s like his mum, and his dog, too – for some reason I want to spend some time with them. Want to tell them about the woman that glowed and about how I’m responsible for this gathering on top of this hill and I’d like to drink with the woman and ask her about her injuries and ask her why, why, why this fuckin craziness recently, why am I sore and tender between the legs and why do I have hand-print bruises across my body and why do I have the feeling that I’ve just narrowly escaped something very, very bad. There’s absolutely no reason to think that she’d be in any way able to answer that question but the urge to ask it is a strong one.

  —I’ve only just got here, I say, too quickly.

  —Have you? Well. Enjoy it. We might be back tomorrow.

  —With my uncle, says the young man. —We have to find him now.

  —Look out for me if you come back up, I say. I blurt. Why am I doing this?

  —Will do, says the woman. —It’s wonderful up here.

  —Tara then. Hope you find your uncle, I say and then turn away so I don’t have to watch them go. Why? Why the fuck would I do that? What’s going on up here?

  I go down, onto the little pebbly beach at the end of the lake. There were some people sleeping on this, last time I was up here. I remember looking down at them all from on top of the ridge; there were some tents and smoking firepits and people in sleeping bags like giant slugs. I remember the mist rising off the lake in weird shapes. How quiet it was. Not like that now, tho – there’s so much stuff going on that me eyes don’t know where to look, there’s people gathered around the fires and in the water and standing around in groups or dancing and running. All ages – from babies held to their parents’ chests to people so old they need sticks to move. Even some in wheelchairs, although not all of them are old, just, like, not able-bodied. A woman walks past me, tottering on high heels, and she sees me looking at her and smiles and says hello to you, pretty woman in a deep man’s voice and then behind her/him, a man comes up, lumberjack shirt, tush, the works, and asks me how I’m doing in the high voice of a woman. This is crazy. A lot of people are wearing masks, all sorts of masks; bank-robber’s masks, bandannas worn bandito-style across the face, even the heads of animals or famous people. And the music; a song starts, I don’t know what it is, but it’s gorgeous, the huge opening chords kind of spread out across the lake, guitar and saxophone and some feller crooning about how he was born to be with me; well, he says ‘y
ou’, but I know he means me. I smell the gorse all kind of coconut-y and the pissy tang of skunk smoke. I see some faces that I recognise, and not in a pleasant way – Marc and Llŷr and their mates, older guys like who’ve never grown out of their wildness and have reached the age now where that’s stopped being cool and has become sinister and a bit pathetic, but even they are laughing, enjoying themselves, lying back all relaxed on the pebbles and passing round a spliff the size of a pool cue. This is – this is – up here is a glimpse into how life could, should, be. I sense no anger. There is no violence simmering underneath the surface. It’s kind of – fuck, how can I say this – kind of like, up here, everybody is living how they’re supposed to live. A little boy comes up to me and he holds out a shoelace or something. Maybe he wants me to put it back in his shoe. But when he holds it up in front of my face it wriggles and writhes.

  —Look at this, the little boy says. —Isn’t he lovely?

  The snake wraps itself around the boy’s wrist. Never been scared of snakes in that girly way, me, and I touch the small head; I’ve held snakes before, lots of times, when I was a kid at Trefenter, and it always surprises me how dry they are to the touch. Not slimy at all.

  —He’s brilliant. Where’d you find him?

  —Over there on a rock. Gonner put him in the long grass where he’ll be safe.

  —Good boy. That’s a good idea.

  About Tom’s age, this boy is. And acting in the way that Tomos would; making sure the snake is safe, that’s exactly the kind of thing my son would do. The little lad goes off with the snake, showing it to everyone and they all react to it with fascination and even a kind of wonder; they’re not just indulging the boy, they really seem to be interested. I’d expect at least one or two to scream and run away, but no; even the snakes are liked up here. This is a good place. A huge EU flag flaps against the sky and I get the stars confused.