"I don't know Pat". Maybe he should have stayed with Patricia. She knows him. Knows what he wants.
"You have to move on. Pete, we should do this more often. I haven't skipped an afternoon off work, since... since we were together. I’ve really missed you. Like this. With me. No one knowing what we're doing". Patricia climbs onto Peter, kissing him. Kissing down his body. Peter knowing exactly what's happening next, tensing with expectation, then relaxing with it. Relaxing for the first time in months.
The time on the bedside clock reads 4pm.
Carole washes her face in the bathroom. Trying to shake off the dream that is still haunting her. The grove up on the high ground. Why was she dreaming about it? Who was there with her? A boy. What boy? She never went there when she was here on holiday. Never had a summer romance here in Cwm Celyn. So its not a memory coming back to haunt her. She hardly noticed the grove. It was always one of her dad's landmarks in the valley, but too difficult to reach. Surrounded by miles of the forest with no roads leading there. Or so it seemed. Maybe now... But why?
She is getting back to reality. Looking at the mess still to be cleared in the cottage. Even the kitchen is a mess. Hadn't she left that tidy this morning? Everything is now disorganised on the worktops. She is sure she put those things away. Strange.
She's done nothing today. A wasted day.
Carole picks up her phone. Its passed four o'clock. Signal yes. Calls no. Peter hasn't rung! Bastard! Why not? The longer this goes on, the more difficult it'll be to put right. If it should be put right. She has to deal with this. No time like now. He'll be in work. Tied to his desk as usual. He'll have to talk to her!
Carole pacing outside the cottage, on the phone, getting increasingly stressed. Growing more concerned; no actually angry as the conversation goes on. Her mind racing. What the hell is going on? "No, I haven't tried his mobile. Is...? So he hasn't come back from lunch? At this time? OK Frances, thanks... I understand... Yes, talk soon, 'bye". Confusion on Carole's face. Something is wrong. Where the hell is he if he's not at work? Would Frances be covering for him? Would she? Christ! Has she got no friends at all anymore?
Carole dials his mobile number. It goes straight to answerphone. Fuck.
Carole dials another number. 'Flat'. Four rings. The answer phone cuts in. Peter's voice. Carole's face drops. Christ, where is he? "Peter and Carole aren't in. Please leave us a message after the tone and we'll get back to you".
Gathering her thoughts. "Hi Pete, it's me. I've been trying to get through to you... Where are you?"
Carole's voice like a ghost in the living room of the flat. Her message being recorded as the red light flashes on the answer phone. The flashing red light paling to insignificance as the sun bursts through the window drowning it out. Other sounds drowning out her shaky voice on the speaker. Rhythmic. Gasps, moans from nearby.
Patricia astride Peter on the bed. Hearing Carole's message. Groaning and crying out to drown out the sound of Carole's voice.
Carole's message continuing. "Are you ok? Frances says you haven't gone back to work this afternoon. What’s wrong? We need to talk..."
Patricia smiles as she hears the stress in Carole's voice. She watches Peter beneath her, staring wildly up at her. "Come on! Fuck me Pete!".
"Pete, are you there?" Carole faint on the answerphone.
Peter closing his eyes. Its too much. He arches in ecstasy. "You sexy bitch!"
Patricia cries out again and falls forward on Peter, grasping him tight.
"Call me back". The answerphone rumbles on.
Patricia listens. Sweet revenge on the girl who took her man. Yes, he was her man. Now he's her man again.
End of message. Beep beep, the witch is dead.
Patricia kisses Peter, their tongues entwined.
Carole pacing the cottage living room. What the hell is going on? Something is wrong! Its not like Peter to go off the grid, nor miss work. He never had a day off sick in the time they worked together. His mobile off. And he's not at the flat. He's avoiding her. He's avoiding everybody it seems. And he's a couple of hundred miles away. And she has no transport. She can't leave the cottage. Not that she could find Pete even if she wanted to, in a city with three times the population of Wales. Carole roars in frustration and flops down on the mattress in the living room, burying her face in the pillow. Tears of frustration well up.
Sammy whining nearby snaps her out of it. Bringing her back to the miserable reality she has created around herself. Nothing to do but get on with the job of the day. Making this place a home from home. But so much to do. Maybe Mrs. Jones was right. Too much. Rubbish everywhere, even underneath the bags and boxes of stuff she has brought to rejuvenate this place. Tears blur her vision. Its all too much.
The poppet watching her with those deep dark eyes. Carole's eyes lock with it. Carole picks up the poppet to put it away somewhere. Anywhere. She doesn't want anyone seeing her like this. But it feels so warm in her hands. Alive almost. The wood feels soft. Skin-like. Carole strokes its hair, running her fingers down its warm body which swells to her touch. Oh Jeez!!! Did it move? Its still staring into her eyes. Oh God she's losing it...
Carole puts the poppet back down and heads into the kitchen to put some water on her face. To wash away her tears and this hopeless feeling. She can feel the poppet's eyes on her. She opens a few of the buttons on the front of her dress splashing water onto her face and chest. Damn, she's hot, sweating...
Sammy barking loudly. Someone's outside. Who could that be? Carole heads for the front door.
Geraint is at the cottage gate on his bike, with a rucksack on his back. Sammy is jumping up inside the wall and barking excitedly at Geraint who is working out if he may get a bite from the dog if he steps inside the gate.
Carole stops inside the cottage door, keeping back in the shadows. Geraint. In a T-shirt and shorts. Skin tanning from the summer sun. Muscles moving under the skin. Stop it! "Sammy come here!"
Geraint is still watching Sammy a little warily. "I hope you've fed him".
Carole walks over and grabs hold of Sammy. Oh God this boy is hot...
Geraint's eyes widen as he sees Carole's dress is open. Her naked body beneath is visible as the dress falls away. Her bare body, just feet away. Jesus wept. Carole seemingly unaware of it. Or is she? Geraint blushes. Oh God!
"Sammy, stop it! Geraint, hi". Carole unable to think of anything else to say. Smiling at Geraint as she holds onto Sammy's collar. The cool breeze on her body feeling good. So good.
Geraint purposefully taking off his rucksack and looking away. "I brought your shopping".
"Thanks Geraint, its very good of you to bring it up. I hate to be a bother".
Sammy calming down now. Tail wagging relishing the visitor. Someone else to play with.
"No bother. Where shall I put it?"
"Come inside". Carole leads the way into the cottage away from the cool breeze, inside the cottage, with its... atmosphere. It does have an atmosphere.
Geraint follows her inside, his eyes getting used to the gloom. The first thing he sees is the mattress and the suitcase with Carole's underwear. Which she clearly isn't wearing now. Oh God... "How are you settling in?"
"As you can see, it's a bit of a mess, but it's coming along... I haven't done a stroke today though... don't know what's got into me...". Carole smiles coyly, sizing up Geraint.
"Mam says starting any job is the toughest part... is there anything you could do with a hand with, now I'm here?"
"Where to start? Really. I'm not going to get much done today. Are you any good with a corkscrew Geraint?"
Geraint looks bemused. "I've not had much practice..."
"Well there's only one way to get good at anything. Practice... but first I've got to find the thing...".
Carole heads into the kitchen. Geraint follows to the door, watching the shape of her body through her dress. Carole starts rummaging in a drawer, her dress falling away again
giving Geraint a view of her cleavage.
Geraint is torn, both excited and embarrassed. He turns away as Carole looks up.
"Got it. Here we go..." Carole produces the corkscrew from the drawer. "Come on". She crouches down to get a bottle of wine from the lower cupboard. She passes both to up Geraint. 'Ok lad, let me see you do your stuff!"
Geraint struggles with the bottle & corkscrew. Geraint drives the screw into the cork and turns it slowly. Nothing seems to happen. Geraint feels Carole's eyes on him. All over him. She's checking him out. Oh God... The metal screw enters the cork and digs deep. As he turns the screw the cork rises. The cork emerges with a pop. Geraint, pleased he hasn't messed this up. He doesn't want to mess up in front of this woman. Not now. Anything could happen. Oh God, he's getting so excited. "Job done, ma'am!"
Carole claps teasingly, laughing. She puts the two glasses on the worktop, standing very close to Geraint.
Geraint's hand shakes as he fills the two glasses, maybe too full. He glances at Carole who is looking directly into his eyes.
"Have you been here before Geraint?"
A fist of fear in Geraint's stomach. Does she know he was outside the other night? Or at the lake? Oh Christ. Best to act innocent. Say something! "No... I didn’t want to come here when old Mr Phillips was still alive... I was scared to death to come here - everyone said it was a haunted house..."
Carole laughs. "What? I never heard that!"
Oh God, this is going badly. Geraint tries to back track. "No, well... It's rubbish any way, isn't it? Ghosts and things".
Carole moves closer, touching her arm against his. Geraint feeling her breath on his face. "Come on, tell me about it... Please".
Geraint swallows. He can't look Carole in the eye. She is staring at him, with those deep brown eyes. He wants to kiss her, but he's terrified that she'll slap him. Like that girl at the school disco. Bethan. All his friends said he was in. That she was up for it. But when he asked her outside she slapped him in front of everyone. Everyone laughed.
Geraint swallows a mouthful of wine. OK, just tell her the story. See what happens. "The story I’ve heard is that a bit over a hundred years ago, a woman who lived here had an affair with a local boy. Her husband was a captain of a ship. Always away from home. He came home unexpectedly and went out into the countryside to find them. He must have killed them both and then run away to sea again, because they never found any of the bodies. No one's ever seen the ghosts. Its just everyone thinks they're here. So its just a story". Geraint looks at Carole, still staring into his eyes. Her pupils wide, making her eyes appear black. Her mouth open, breathing softly. Her chest heaving.
"I think it's nice having ghosts..."
Carole so near him that he can feel the heat from her body. Geraint closes his eyes for a moment. His mind snaps back to the cottage. How it terrified him as a kid. How he wouldn't come here. Genuinely frightened. Not of ghosts. Of Phillips. Or rather what Phillips would become if there were no other adults around. Very dark and scary. Meaning him... harm. Geraint snaps out of the mood Carole has put him in. He's scared. This is not how women react to him. There's something wrong. "I don’t. I think ghosts are all around us all of the time".
Carole moves even closer. Black eyes staring into his. Her breath in his mouth. Close. Urgent. "I wonder if there are any ghosts down at the old ruined cottage near the lake, you know, the one about a mile closer to the village..."
Geraint more scared than horny now. Not liking this one bit. "Nant-y-Cadno? I haven't been down there in years..." Carole inching closer. Running her hand through his hair. Say something! "I think that's the cottage where the lad lived in the ghost story…"
"So they were neighbours, eh? Two lonely people in the hills... and one thing led to another?"
"Yes. Suppose so..."
"I think I'll go back down there tomorrow afternoon. Sunbathing. It's very private. I like the lake too. I like swimming. I took Sammy down there the other evening. Is that where do you go fishing?"
Geraint flinches, spilling his wine glass. "Oh, I'm sorry!" Red liquid running across the worktop.
Carole snaps out of her reverie. Oh God, what is she doing? Geraint looking down her dress. Oh no! She stiffens and buttons her dress. "Its OK Geraint. I'll clean that up". She takes the glass from his hand. "Do you want me to pour you another glass?"
Geraint is both relieved and deflated. This is more the way women normally react around him. He relaxes a bit and looks for a way out. "Thank you, no. I better be getting home. Mam asks if you want me to come back tomorrow to help you with something?"
Carole composing herself. No harm done. No use crying over spilt Rioja. Nothing got out of hand, thank God. And it would be good to have some help around here. "Yes, if that’s OK... I'll need a hand moving furniture so I can clean the place up, and do some painting".
OK, Geraint knows he has to come back. Maybe he should rehearse what to say next time. She is so gorgeous. And she wants him to come back here. So he hasn't blown it. Thank God for that. "Right, OK... Shall I come by tomorrow afternoon?"
"Perfect. Thank you. And say thanks to your mum for me. Be careful on the way home".Carole practically shoos Geraint towards the door. She's back in control, but damn, that can't happen again. She's on her own up here. She doesn't need any problems. Especially with such a cute boy. His back arching as he pulls on the rucksack.
Carole waves to Geraint as he rides his bike up the road towards the village.
He looks over his shoulder as he rides off. Carole is torn, almost crying out to him to return. He disappears from sight. Carole realises she has some of Geraint’s hair between her fingers. She studies the blonde locks as she leans against the garden wall. Playing with it between her fingers. She looks up to see if he is in earshot, but too late, he's gone. Damn she wants him to come back. Carole goes back into the cottage, not bothering to close the door.
There are shadows where she stood at the garden wall The trees seem to disappear as the light intensifies. Mari is talking to a passer by. Owain. She tries to draw him closer but he runs away. Mari watches him go running his hair through her fingers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lights in the Night
Carole tosses Geraint's hair into the fireplace as she walks to the kitchen. It falls short, onto the grate and onto the poppet.
In the kitchen she wipes down the worktop, cleaning up the spilt deep red wine. Its on the floor too. The kitchen looks like a murder scene. That was expensive wine. Washing the cloth under the tap, watching the red liquid disappear like spilt blood. Blood on her hands. But no blood has been spilt. No harm done.
But what was she thinking? Why did she leave her dress open like that with an eighteen year old boy alone with her. And he's coming back. Is she leading him on? Best have a word with him tomorrow. Make sure there's no... Feelings. Complicating things with the way things are with Pete is just... Too much. She sips from her wine glass. This won't cork. She'll have to finish the bottle. On her own.
The wind through his hair should clear Geraint's head, but he is still so confused by what just happened. Riding his bike back towards the village. Hardly noticing anything around him as he goes. Freewheeling bike, freewheeling mind. Carole inviting him back. Telling him where she'll be sunbathing. Asking about him fishing at the lake. Does she know he was there when she went skinny dipping?
Geraint takes the bend, rattling over the gouge in the road where the crash happened killing Bethan, the girl who slapped him in the school disco. She went off with Gareth from the sheep farm up on the top of the mountain. He took her to the lake. No need to guess why. But they never made the bend as he was bringing her home. Old Land Rovers are very unforgiving to their passengers. The machine didn't forgive her. It killed her at the same time it died itself, nearly felling that tree that got in its way. Gareth getting away lightly with brain damage.
Hard lessons to learn when you're seventeen. Lives change on split s
econd decisions. On who wants what, from who, and when. Decisions dictating where people end up at certain moments. Thousands of decisions a day. Not all of them good. Some very bad decisions were made that night.
Geraint stops the bike, like he's done so many times. Bethan was lovely. Now she's in the cemetery down in Llanddewi. Things could have been so different. He was quietly devastated. Crying off and on for months. Like he is in danger of doing right now.
He'd come here to see the crash site the following night after Mam had gone to bed. He saw what the minister had warned him about in Sunday school. Canwyll gorff. The corpse candle held by the dead who still walk the land. A white light for a woman. It was her. No doubt. The light at the foot of the tree, so he could see her. Did she blame him for being a twat? Is that why she went off with Gareth instead to teach him a lesson? Was it all his fault? He was terrified, alone with the ghost of a newly dead girl in the dark forest. He'd run home crying like a baby. Now he wouldn't go this way on his own after dark.
He'd lied to Carole earlier. Yes there are ghosts here in the forest. He's seen them. He had to lie to Carole. That was the kind thing to do. Geraint rides on.
Carole. He can't stop thinking about Carole. She's as hot as hell. Her body. So close to him. He saw so much of her just now, and she just let him. Does she want him?
Geraint brings the bike to a halt and realises he's at entrance to the narrow track; the track to Nant y Cadno. Where Carole goes to sunbathe because its private. Oh God. Geraint takes his phone out of his pocket and watches the video he shot of Carole at the lake. The quiet sound of splashing on the video, hidden by the rising hiss of the wind in the trees. Now another sound, a car approaching fast from the village. Geraint stuffs the phone into his pocket and rides on. Up ahead the car turns up the mountain road.
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