After forty miles the Porsche purring at twenty to thirty miles per hour over the speed limit. Carole trying to shorten the five hour trip to Capel Celyn. Carole selecting another album to play on the phone, picked up and amplified by the Porsche's sound system. Carole and the Porsche in perfect harmony. Sammy asleep.
Over the two mile bridge into Wales, the land of her father. Dual carriageways give way to endless roundabouts and then the open hills. Narrower roads needing the Porsche's power to get around lorries, tractors and Land Rovers. Carole looking for a service station selling Super Unleaded Fuel. Finding one with a cafe opposite. A bacon roll for her, sausages and a bowl of water for Sammy.
An hour later she is on the single track mountain road coming to the drop into Cwm Celyn. Carole brings the car to a halt as she did when driving her Dad and Mum just before Christmas. Only three months ago. Carole looks at the valley's landmarks within the forestry through tear filled eyes. Counting off the lake, the grove and the village as she always did with her Dad, until eventually the tears dry.
Buzz. A text on her phone. “That went really well last night. You were brilliant. Job as good as yours. Keep under your hat. Xpect formal interview soon. Jenny x”.
Everything happening at once. Coming together.
The Porsche banging around, out of its element on the bumpy forest road. Carole bringing the car to a halt on the verge in front of the cottage. The throbbing engine stops and there is silence. Except for the hiss of the breeze through the trees and Sammy whining.
Carole gets out of the car. Mrs Jones opens her door and Sammy darts out. She struggles to get out of the passenger side having been sitting practically at ground level.
Carole looking around. "Its so peaceful here".
"A fortnight ago there was snow. March comes in like a lion and leaves like a lamb. Spring is coming. These trees cut out the wind. Its very sheltered up here".
Mrs. Jones looks at the house. Two windows like two dark eyes watching her. Like Phillips watching her with those dark and haunted eyes when he came to the shop to buy whiskey. And how those eyes were different, clear and glassy when she found him here just after Christmas. She shivers at the memory.
Is it really the right thing to do to get Dai's girl interested in this place? With this history? Its just everyone is leaving Cwm Celyn. Empty houses are fewer customers. Fewer friends. A smaller community. It can't become just another holiday home for some rich English stranger. Carole is practically family. Yes, its the right thing for Cwm Celyn. Mrs. Jones fumbles for the keys.
Carole takes a photo of the traditional Welsh cottage. White-washed in need of redoing. Welsh slate roof in good shape. Traditional wooden sash windows with signs of rot, they'd probably need replacing. A chimney in good shape. Carole bounds up to the cottage enthusiastically, Sammy dancing around her legs. Mrs Jones follows with growing trepidation.
Carole looks excitedly through the window through the part closed rotting curtains as Mrs Jones fumbles with the keys.
Mrs Jones struggling to turn the old key. The door unlocks with a squeak, and opens with complaining hinges. "The place needs a lot of work, Carole bach".
Carole steps inside into the gloom, dark and cold. Its really cold. Mrs Jones switches on the light. The energy-saving low wattage bulb hardly adds any illumination. Sammy is still on the doorstep unsure of whether to go inside.
By now Mrs. Jones failing to hide her distaste. "Its such a shame the place is such a mess Carole. The family came up after the funeral and took away anything they wanted to keep. The rest of this rubbish comes with the house.
Carole is looking beyond the old newspapers, magazines, general tat and decades of dust and dirt. The house seems to have stood still for sixty years or more. "But its lovely Mrs. Jones. Look at this fireplace, the beams, its really gorgeous". Carole takes more pictures on her mobile phone. The beamed ceiling. The fire place. The ochre walls. Sturdy stuff behind the dirt and dust.
Mrs Jones coughs with the dust, or is it fungus in the air? Or is something else smelling? Something dead? She swears she can still smell Mr. Phillips.
Carole heads off to the left. Through the door into the kitchen. Mrs Jones stays in the living room, by the front door. Uneasy. Still coughing.
"Wow, a Belfast sink..." Snap. A post-war kitchen covered in grime. Snap. "I don't know if you know, Mrs. Jones. Is this cottage listed?" Opening the other door. A toilet with pull chain. A different stink. Pretty bad too. No picture this time.
"I don't know Carole. It was built around the turn of the last century by a ship's captain. Its not that old as houses go around here".
Carole is coughing now. There is a bad smell in here. The whole place needs airing. Another door. A bath and basin and filthy mirror. The 1950s white bath is black with filth. Snap.
"The water comes from the well, there’s no mains out here. There's a Septic tank. No gas or phone either. Just the electric. Its very basic Carole bach. Too much work I'd say". That doubt remains. Mrs Jones is getting... nervous? Another coughing fit. The dog has come inside. The first spots of rain. Mrs. Jones closes the front door.
Mrs Jones walks to the bedroom but stops. She has to prove to herself that this is just an empty room now. The sad old man has gone. The dog runs in passed her, exploring wildly. Mrs Jones feels increasingly uncomfortable in here. Where she found him. Hanging there like a side of pork in the cold air. Cold staring eyes. Accusing. Why had she not popped up before Christmas? Why? Because her hands were full with Carole and her mother after Davey died outside her shop. Mrs Jones has had enough. She turns swiftly bumping into Carole.
"Sorry.". Carole takes in the bedroom. Low beams. The bed and bedroom furniture. "I can do a lot with this place, there's so much potential. There's nothing a bit of tender loving care and some fresh paint won't fix. I love it Mrs. Jones. I’ll phone the family today and organise a survey".
Mrs Jones regretting this now. "Surely this is too much work for you?" She can't stand being in here, even with Carole.
The sudden sound of rain hammering down on the roof. A heavy shower. Masking the sound of the front door opening. Squealing as a shadow comes inside. Sammy whines and crawls under the bed.
Carole not listening to anything. "Dad would be so pleased if he could see me in this place". The shadow moves behind her. Carole takes a picture of the bedroom. She and Mrs. Jones are reflected in the full length mirror. Beside her Mrs Jones looks very uneasy.
Mrs Jones wanders off to close the front door.
Carole looks at her watch. "Would you mind waiting while I measure up the rooms? I won't be long I promise".
"I'll give you a hand. We need to be quick. The sooner I get back to the shop the better".
CHAPTER NINE
Doors Closing
Carole at the bathroom mirror drying her hair after a shower. Combing through her dirty blonde hair. Mascara and eye-liner making her deep brown eyes seem black. Not thickening her eyebrows, that's tacky, for younger girls only. Red lipstick. Wonderbra making her cleavage more prominent but not too much. Dark stockings.
Its a job interview. Business but she saw how those men from DIG looked at her. Its a #MeToo world now. She can look good in person, as good as she looks on paper. She's aiming for business smart. The same style as Jenny. That girl has it to a tee. 'Yes I'm attractive and I have a brain. Hire me and I make you look good. Because I'm REALLY good'.
Has she overdone it? She can't show Jenny up. No more mascara maybe.
"You never wear mascara". Pete, just awake, standing naked outside the bathroom door watching. Appreciating. Wanting. "Suits you".
Carole smiles. The first compliment he has given her in a few weeks.
"I thought you had the morning off? Where are you going looking like that?"
Carole steps out passed Pete who slaps her playfully on the bum. Carole goes into the bedroom. She pulls her best business suit out of the wardrobe and a business blouse. "I've got a job
interview".
Peter's face falls. "You kept that quiet".
"It just came up. We don't get time to talk these days Pete."
'We don't get time to talk?' Where the fuck has that come from? And why would she want to leave the firm? And not even mention it? "OK so tell me now".
"Its an interview with DIG".
Oh Jesus. A bomb goes off in Peter's gut. "Woah! Think for a minute. They're our main competition Carole! Think of the problems if my girl is working for a rival company?"
Carole puts on her blouse.
"Have you talked this through with TP? Ask him for a rise".
"I want to talk to you first. If they offer me the job, do you think I should take it?"
"If TP won’t offer you a raise, you should go for it. But its complicated".
"Complicated?"
"Conflict of interest and all that".
"So we'll be signing NDAs. What's new?" Finishing buttoning up the blouse.
"Would you get more than you're getting now?"
Carole nods aware of him watching her from the bedroom doorway. "Quite a bit more. And TP will behave. He needs you to do all the heavy lifting". Skirt on.
"Maybe. I don't know... Is that enough more so we can get ourselves a mortgage? A place of our own at last?"
"Can we though Pete? Really? All of our money has gone by the end of the month right now. Have you got any money for a deposit?"
"I'll end the contract on the Porsche. Thats almost a grand a month. Do you think you'll get any money after your father?"
"That money is spoken for Pete". Suit jacket on.
"What do you mean? There is money? Carole?" Carole puts her dress watch on. "London is one of the most expensive cities in the world! We need every penny if we're going to put a deposit down. I mean, your dad left it to you. For us! What else are you going to do with it?"
Keys. Handbag. "Let's talk tonight. I really have to go. Get home as soon as you can OK? Are you going to wish me luck?" Carole brushes past him, expecting a kiss.
Peter stands naked with his whole world falling away.
The door slams. Carole is gone.
Carole can feel eyes on her all afternoon. Who knows about the interview apart from Pete? Who has he been talking to? Would he screw things up to keep her here? He pulled some strokes to get rid of his ex-girlfriend Patricia when he and Carole started to see each other.
Men here can be devious. And as open as a book. Carole at the printer and two lads suddenly rushing to print stuff too. Ah... The battle dress has had an unintended effect. Walking back to her desk. The boys looking.
Peter glowering from across the office. Things are going to be rough tonight.
"How can you just forget what we’ve been doing for the last couple of years?"
"Don't be so melodramatic. I haven't. Dad has written a covenant. I have to spend the money in Cwm Celyn".
"Some back of beyond area you visited when you were a kid! Fuck Carole. Let's get a lawyer to look at it, see if there's any way...".
Carole leaps to defend her Dad. "What? No! It's his money and now its spoken for. I’ve already made an offer on a cottage there".
Peter's face pales further. What the hell is going on? "Really? So have you even seen this place?"
"That’s where I went the other weekend".
Peter stares at Carole in disbelief. "You told me you were visiting your mother! You lied? Fuck Carole!!! Why didn’t you tell me about this?"
"I am telling you about it. Its not a lot of money. The place will make money as a holiday home. It will pay for itself easily".
"Is that your plan? And what about our plans? Here! In the real world!"
"It’ll all work out, you’ll see".
"You could lose me my job by working for DIG. Its called sleeping with the enemy!"
"You know TP has policies coming out of his ears about that sort of stuff. That's why we work in the same office but on different teams. Jenny left well over a year ago so she can now approach former work colleagues like me. Their job has me working with clients who have been with DIG for years. No conflicts. I checked".
"You've been planning this for ages haven't you?"
"No! Its just things are coming together. Doors are opening Pete".
"No! Doors are closing!" Peter grabs his coat and storms out of the flat.
Hours later. Carole lying half asleep in bed, still upset, holding Sammy. Sammy woofing, the front door opening quietly. Someone in the doorway. "Pete?". The door closes. Someone flops heavily on the sofa.
For the next month everything flows. Faster than she even imagined. Offer accepted. Survey fine. Contracts exchanged. A bit of money left over to fix up the place. And DIG came through. Start date the first of July.
A whirlwind shaking up her life. But all Carole notices is Pete. Or to be more exact, the lack of Pete. Gone first thing. Home late. Sleeping on the sofa. Not speaking. Not speaking because of overwork has turned into not speaking on purpose.
Carole acquiring stuff for the cottage. A mattress filling the entrance hall. Boxes of cleaning materials. Crockery. Bed clothes. A suitcase. Boxes of belongings from the flat. Her belongings. Peter doesn't do belongings, apart from clothes and tech.
So he feels all of this crap is just left there to antagonise him, to be tripped over as he tries to get in and out of the place as quietly as possible. So Carole is not speaking now. Avoiding him at work and not speaking when he's at home.
"I’ll miss you terribly you know". A warm hug.
"I'll miss you too Frances. But we'll see each other around, out at lunch or something".
A card. A bottle of Prosecco. An iTunes gift card. No TP or Peter, locked in a conveniently timed meeting. Carole knows that its the end of the road here, and its a one way street. So onwards to elsewhere.
"Got any plans before you start up at DIG? A holiday or something?"
"I’m fixing up my cottage in Wales".
"You bought a cottage? In Wales? Bloody hell! I had no idea".
"It needs a bit of work, so I’m going to spend a few weeks down there sorting it out".
"So what brought this on? I would have thought Peter and you would be buying a place of your own here in London".
"You know house prices".
"Yes, but there's no time like now Carole. The only thing that never comes down is house prices".
Carole uncomfortable in the face of Frances logic. "I bought it with the money my Dad left to me". Distraction always works with Frances. "Want to see some pictures?"
"Yeah! Too right I do".
Carole opens up the pictures on her phone. Shots taken on her trip to the cottage with Mrs Jones.
"Wow... That’s really old. It could be really lovely eh?"
"I think so. It needs a little renovation but you know me. I'm not scared of hard work". Carole keeps swiping through the pictures.
"What does Pete think of it?"
"He hasn't seen it. He's driving me down there on the weekend. He'll see it then".
"But he's back in work on Monday. You're not going to stay down there on your own or something are you? Don't get me wrong, its lovely and all that, but its a lot of work Carole". Carole still swiping through the photos to the shot Carole took in the bedroom. "Who’s that?"
Carole looks at the still from the bedroom. "That’s Mrs Jones. She’s my Dad’s friend who helped me get the place..."
Frances points. "No, not her. The man... there, behind you".
Carole and Mrs Jones are reflected in the wardrobe mirror. Behind Carole is a grey shadow. Something she hadn't seen before. What the hell is that? Dirt on the lens? But its not on any other picture. "I’ve had these pictures for a couple of months and never noticed that. Weird. Trick of the light I suppose..."
CHAPTER TEN
Into the Outland
Saturday morning. Carole stacking cardboard boxes outside the front door of the flat in the communal s
tairwell. Its much too early for anyone else to be about for them to be an inconvenience. The front door to the building slams. Peter comes up the stairs, carrying something inside his jacket. "Hi babe. I've got the hire van parked up out front. Better get moving".
Carole picks up the first box. Peter rolls a bottle of champagne onto the top of the box.
"I brought something for the new house. To say sorry... its your money, your Dad wanted you to get a place down there. That’s ok with me. I bet its lovely".
Carole gives Peter an awkward kiss. Time was she could find his lips instinctively. Its been a while. "Thanks Pete".
The thaw is temporary. The chance to talk on the trip is wasted. Too much tension lately. Now they are in a small space together for a few hours its very difficult to talk.
Peter still hurt by the fact Carole has kept such major life-changing events from him. Because he was overworked, apparently. How does that make sense?
Outside on the motorway the traffic is free flowing, but the hire van has a speed regulator. The ultimate pain in the arse on a long trip.
Peter could do with a coffee. Passing a motorway service station about an hour out of town, but they've not gone far enough to need to stop. The next he'd driven past without noticing it was there. Then nothing until after crossing the bridge over the sea into Wales but he missed that one too.
Off the motorway, onto dual carriageways and suddenly mountain roads. Reservoirs. Towns with at least twenty miles between them. Good thing he'd brought the sat nav. It sits on the van's dashboard showing oncoming nothingness as he keeps driving along a pink road into the unending greenery on the little screen. The signposts are different, with Welsh on top. He never gets as far as the English version of names or directions, as his brain tries to make sense of the names he read first time. Peter is lost. Carole knows the way, but isn't exactly forthcoming with the information. The sat nav does most of the talking.
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