"So what can you see in those bloody trees?". A soft West Wales accent. Carole's father sits wrapped up in the front passenger seat despite the car heater humming away.
Carole smiles and points. "There's the lake." A flatter London accent.
"Llyn Celyn. Good." Her father smiles.
"Capel Celyn". Carole points out the village, only just visible through the trees and in the grey mid winter light.
"Can you spot the grove? Tough with no leaves on the trees."
Carole squints. An area of grey black in the green black. "There".
"Good". Carole's father, Dai smiles. David at work. Davey to his wife and family. Dai when back here at home. "I was a boy when that Commission started planting these trees. There used to be little farm houses everywhere but the forest has swallowed them. No one remembers them. All gone."
"That's enough Davey! You're getting upset. Carole. Get us to the village for goodness sake. Its getting dark". Carole's mother in the rear seat. Impatient for the long journey to end.
"Of course its getting bloody dark. Its the solstice. The shortest day." Dai coughs due to raising his voice.
Carole puts the car into gear and it pulls away descending the steep slope down into the forestry.
Within the forest the direct winter sunlight is gone. Gloom. Half light. A different world. The road suddenly cracked and frost shattered.
Carole switches on the headlights. The pool of light illuminates the road but does not penetrate into the forest all around.
The grey pine forestry plantation's form is obvious now. Regimented. Starting a few feet from the edge of the road. No light for anything to thrive. No room for anything else. Just enough room to walk between the trees. Like rows upon rows of soldiers as far as the eyes can see. The trees taller than buildings on a big city street. Thirty feet tall, more. Keeping out what light there is on this the darkest of days. The forest already in near darkness even before sunset.
The Saabs tail-lights disappear as the car is swallowed by the gloom created by the forestry.
Carole brings the car to a halt at a road junction. One signpost.
To the left is CAPEL CELYN — 1 MILE. Carole turns right.
Mother's frustration boils over. "Where are you going? Its the wrong way Carole! Its getting dark!"
"It’s ok, we’ve got time. Right Dad?"
Dai is lost in his thoughts. Not miles away. Years away. Back when this very spot was open country. Sheep. School friends. The people of Capel Celyn.
"Carole!" Her mother tensing in the rear seat.
Carole turns to her Mother in the back seat. "It’s not far Mum. And its Christmas".
Dai grabs the wheel. "Look out!!!"
Carole slams on the brakes. Everything slows down. Seeing and steering around a shape in the middle of the road.
The car skids to a halt. Carole looking out of the drivers side window at the old man who stands beside the car in the middle of the road.
Thin. Hardly filling his grey overcoat, carrying an empty shopping bag. He stares into space and seems to come back to his senses. He turns angrily to Carole. Bulging eyes. Maybe drunk. He locks eyes with Carole for a moment then continues on his way, limping down the middle of the road in the gloom, lit red by the car's brake lights.
Carole thrown. Shocked. Shaking. She climbs out of the car. "Are you ok? Sir?"
The man doesn't respond as he limps away further into the gloom of the forest. Ghost like.
The hiss of the wind in the trees masks every sound except the thump of the car engine.
Tap tap tap. Carole's mother tapping on the car window. "Carole. Get back in the car. Get us to the village before it gets dark for goodness sake."
Her father coughing again as the cold air hits him. "Phillips! I’m surprised he’s still alive."
"You know him Dad?"
"Aye, he lives in the cottage just up the road here. Leave him alone, mad old bastard."
"That’s no way to talk Davey. He might hear you."
"He's as deaf as a bloody post he is".
Carole stands for a moment catching her thoughts. Realising how close she came to hitting the old man. Getting shakily back into the car. Carole drives off down the road. In the rear view mirrors Phillips continues to walk until the gloaming swallows him.
Carole accelerates away down the forestry road into the encroaching gloom.
The car drives past an old traditional single storey Welsh cottage on the roadside, surrounded by the tall forestry trees. The cottage is character personified - beautiful but is very unkempt, fighting off dereliction. Once white, now more grey with damp and moss. Carole doesn't notice it as she concentrates on the road ahead in the gloaming.
The road dips and dips again for the next half mile. Around one more bend and the Saab descends to the end of the road at the shore of a beautiful lake surrounded by the forestry trees. A magical sight after the darkness of the forest. Carole kills the engine. Awed, she reaches for her phone.
All is silent as Carole and Dai get out of the car. Not even the hiss of the wind in the trees here. The sun is already low - winter purples and blacks colour the water. Hardly a ripple on the surface. "Dad. Smile". Carole takes a photo of her father against the sunset, the phone camera flashes. Carole looks at the picture on the phone's screen. Darkness looming behind her father. The colours not as true as real life. And he looks pale. Old. Tired. Unwell.
Dai wanders off down towards the lake shore lost in thought.
Carole opens the car's rear door. "Come on Mum, its a lovely sunset."
"It’s too cold Carole. Get your father back in the car, you know he’s not well."
"Mum. Please. Come on". Her mother closes the door. Carole bites her tongue. Her mother doesn't do any emotion except annoyance. Right now that's the last thing she needs. The old man has asked to spend Christmas in Capel Celyn. With her too. She had plans. But something told her to change them. They haven't been here in Cwm Celyn as a family for maybe five years. Why now? Midwinter? Christmas? The weather won't be great. "He's not well" is her mother's phrase to explain the trip. Carole doesn't want to think about it any deeper than that.
Dai has walked around to the standing stone on the shore of the lake. He leans on it, a little unsteady. Carole sees his unsteadiness, and hurries to join him. Suddenly overcome with a feeling of not wanting to be far from him.
"Thanks for bringing me here Carole. It’s good of you taking time off work. I know you’d rather be with Peter in London".
"I know this is home for you Dad. That little flat you bought with Mum... she's happy there, but are you?"
Dai turns and looks at the low sun. Carole is struggling as much as Dai. Thinking of what to say next when there's too much to say.
"We’ll have a quiet family Christmas, like we used to have. Just you, me and Mum".
Dai is drifting away. "There are so many memories here... so many ghosts..."
"What’s the matter Dad? Don't you feel well?"
"Listen, I’ve made sure you’ll be ok when I’m gone. When the money comes through promise me you’ll find yourself down here as often as you can, get away from that damn city. This is where you’re from Carole. Our blood runs deep in this country, you can’t forget that. Promise me will you?" Dai grabs Carole's arm. Earnest.
Carole worried. "Dad. Ok, I promise. But listen…"
Carole's phone rings. Carole checks the caller - Peter.
"You going to answer that? Might be important."
"Its only Peter."
"So its important." Dai makes his way back towards the car.
"Dad, no…" Carole exasperated. Why won't her parents talk to her? She answers the phone. "Hello, Pete?"
A west London square surrounding black iron railed gardens. Georgian white pillared townhouses. On the outside back to their former glory. As everything in London, going through a new lease of life behind the facade. Within this one its hight end f
lats. A single one bedroom flat on each floor. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, lounge. Theirs is on the second floor.
Thirty years ago it would have been bedsits in this once dodgy neighbourhood. Today its worth a good million more than even Peter and Carole could borrow together to pay for it, even with their two good City jobs. Renting it takes over half of their monthly wages.
Bright spot lights. White walls. Fitted units in each room. A few books on the shelves but little else. Decorated for Christmas by a fibre optic Christmas tree. A gas fire burns in the grate. Large screen TV with sound bar. A handful of Christmas cards. A shaggy little dog. Photographs from foreign holidays on a digital photo frame. A Facebook lifestyle.
Peter, Carole’s boyfriend. Four or five years older than her, pushing thirty. Dark haired, handsome, sitting on the leather sofa, tie-less in a designer suit. Relaxed for a change. The tone of his voice brings Sammy the dog up on the sofa beside him, nestling on Peter's lap.
"Hi babe, have you made it to wild & woolly Wales yet?"
Sammy's ears prick up to Carole's voice on the phone. "Yes, just watching the sun go down. It’s lovely. Everything ok?"
"Yeah, your dog’s being very affectionate for a change. I’ll be lucky to make it out the door with my virtue intact!"
Carole's coy laugh still gets to him. Such a sexy girl. Pretty. Great body. And nice. Not usually his type, but with Carole there is no drama, just plenty of light entertainment. What a difference from the previous couple of bunny boilers.
"I'm off out now to the Christmas bash. I wish you were here. But family is important. Mine doesn't work so I should bloody well know. So you enjoy babe, OK?" A pause. Swallowing. He has to ask. "How is the old man?"
Carole looks across at Dai, standing at the water's edge, watching the sun sink over the horizon. "Not himself. I brought him down to the lake where he used to take me fishing, I thought that would cheer him up a bit. Something's up. And Mum, well, is Mum".
"I'm sorry babe. You have fun though eh? They'll appreciate it I'm sure".
Carole forces a smile. "Behave yourself tonight".
"Moi? Don’t I always?"
"You never did with me".
"You never asked me to".
"Miss you hon. Give Sammy a hug for me".
"Yeah. Talk tomorrow eh?"
Carole pockets the phone. Dai has wandered over to the car and climbs inside. Family sunset moment over.
CHAPTER THREE
Meeting Future Ghosts
The sun is setting on the shortest day. Its on the horizon hidden by the trees. A cold sun. No warmth. Mid winter. Bleak. A shroud of darkness is falling as the sun disappears.
Carole drives the Saab through the dark pine forest, watching for that strange old man walking down the middle of the road. No sign of him now. He must have got to where he was going in one piece.
Four days to Christmas. Carole feels no sense of festive spirit. No snow forecast for Christmas, thank God. She wouldn't want to be stuck out here. It doesn't feel like Christmas even if she is surrounded by literally millions of Christmas trees.
The village of Capel Celyn starts where the trees end. Suddenly you're in it. Off to her right, a small cul de sac of council homes, when new a uniform white, now that they have been bought by their tenants are a mix of random colours, making them unique in their own way.
The main part of the village is one long narrow strip of houses, not continuous. A short terrace. A modern bungalow. A row of older detached houses. Many of these houses are dark, unoccupied; holiday homes probably. Others have Christmas lights battling the gloaming. A smattering of parked cars, Japanese pick up trucks, family cars cum rally cars and local trader vans with names like Evans, Williams, Davies. In seconds the car has reached the centre of the village. A pub, closed and for sale. The chapel, Y Capel giving the village its name.
Opposite the chapel, the little house Dai has rented for Christmas. Dai points it out to Carole. "End of the road. Just here on the left Carole." Carole gives him a smile and parks the car.
"Thank God. I thought we'd never make it". Mother in the back.
Carole undoes her seat belt and heads out. "Ill pop over to the shop and get the keys".
Opposite the little house, next door to the chapel vestry, a pool of light. The Village Shop and Post Office. Independent, not one of the franchises that dominate back in the city. A beacon of light in the gloom of the village.
Carole enters the shop with the door bell tinkling. An Aladdin's cave. Freezers of food. Fridges of milk and cheese adding sound and light to the quiet cacophony. A newspaper rack stacked with magazines. A Post Office counter. Rows of shelves of tinned food, bread, essentials.
And Mrs Jones at the counter. Mrs Jones squinting to see who the stranger wrapped in the big coat is. Recognising the voice straight away.
"Hello there Mrs Jones. How are you?"
"Carole bach. Good to see you. You made it before dark. Good, good. Did you have a good trip love?"
"Great thanks, but I think the sooner we get Dad indoors the better".
Concern on Mrs. Jones' face. She reaches for keys on a hook on the wall behind her, and makes her way around the counter to join Carole, giving her a peck on the cheek.
Carole becomes aware of a movement behind her. A figure moving from between the shelves which have hidden him from view. The man in the road. Mr. Phillips. Grey under the fluorescent lighting. He carries a half full shopping basket and wanders in front of Carole to the counter.
Carole is still embarrassed from the near miss in the road earlier. "I'm sorry, I never saw you".
This close the old man smells. Poor old feller must not be looking after himself too well. A wife wouldn't put up with that.
Phillips hasn't heard Carole. Or maybe he doesn't listen. "Two of those", pointing at the whiskey bottles behind the counter. Welsh. Carole learned so little Welsh from her father. She gets the number but not the full meaning.
Mrs Jones speaking loudly. "I’ll be with you now, Mr. Phillips. This is Dai Morris' daughter".
Phillips takes out his wallet to pay.
Mrs. Jones is in need of some help. "Geraint!?!" Smiling apologetically at Carole, "It’ll do your dad good to spend Christmas back here where he was brought up. Tell him to pop in when he’s feeling up to it. We can catch up on old times."
Mr. Phillips coughs. Impatient.
Geraint, Mrs Jones' teenage son appears from the rear of the shop. Mop of unruly blonde hair, tall, lanky, not filled out yet. Still dressed in his school uniform. He stops in his tracks when he sees Phillips.
Phillips gives him a long hard look. Cold. Menacing maybe.
"Geraint, take Carole and her family over to Idwal’s cottage will you, and open it up. Get the heating on. Show them where everything is". She holds out the key fob.
Geraint takes the fob whilst keeping a safe distance from Phillips.
He then looks at Carole. Looking stunning with the fur of her parka around her face. Recollection from a few summers ago. The older blonde babe who came to the village for a week. She is even more beautiful now. Geraint he clams up.
Deep brown eyes framed by dirty blonde hair. Lips move. A soft voice. "Thanks Mrs Jones. Hello Geraint."
Geraint almost crippled by shyness. "Hi. This way."
Geraint moves quickly passed Carole and towards the door. Carole smiles at Mrs Jones, and Mr. Phillips. He glares back. Recognition at last.
Carole follows Geraint out of the shop.
Geraint leads Carole across the road to the little house near where the car is parked. "Geraint, I'm Carole, thanks for helping".
"I remember you. You used to come down here a few years ago with your dad and mam."
"That’s right, you’ve got a good memory. I haven’t been here for maybe five years. You always hid when I came into the shop. I'm not that scary huh?" Carole laughs, Geraint lightens up. She remembers him.
Carole’s Father and M
other get out of the car, and start to pull suitcases from the rear. Geraint doesn’t wait to be asked, he takes the largest case from Carole’s Father.
"Geraint? You’ve grown. You’re the image of your dad. Pity he’s not here to see you. He’d be proud. How’s your mother?"
"She's alright thank you Mr. Morris. You should go and see her. Catch up."
Geraint carries the case to the house, fiddling with the key in the lock. Carole takes her mother's case and her own and joins Geraint at the front door to the cottage.
Dai hangs back, closing the car's hatchback, then leaning on the car, catching his breath. He is in a cold sweat, and wipes his brow. A door slam across the road. Dai looks across His and Phillips' eyes meet. Mutual recognition, but no friendliness. Mr. Phillips limps off back up the road. Dai watches him go passed the Chapel and on up the street.
Dai crosses the road to the chapel fence. Bethlehem Chapel. Rebuilt in 1904 during the Welsh Religious Revival. Where Dai used to go to chapel as a boy. Now looking dark and unwelcoming in the half light. Shadows by the chapel door. Indistinct. Probably due to the cataracts Dai's been told need to be treated. But is there any point now?
Shadows becoming shapes as Dai looks harder. Three figures near the chapel door. Something on sticks. Tall. Almost as tall as the man in the top hat who is using it. A box. Concertina section. A little cloth to the rear. One of those old cameras. Who uses cameras like that any more?
Outside the Chapel on the steps stand two grey figures. Becoming clearer as the light decays. Ifan and Mari, dressed for their wedding. Formal. Joyless. No smiles. The Photographer taking the picture.
Mari is unnerved. Her voice drifting to Dai on the breeze. The primal fear of a Welsh mountain girl faced with something new at the dawn of a new century. "Will this thing steal my soul Ifan?"
The photographer raises the flash bar and presses the trigger. A flash of light - the headlights of a car speeding through the village.
Old Flames Page 2