Old Flames

by Dewi Griffiths

  "Peter".

  No, that's not it. It doesn't sit on him right now. Who said that? That negress again. What does she want?

  She stands at the doorway looking vexed. "Can I ask you something?"

  She seems haughty. She needs to remember her place. Her name is Frances, isn't it? "Can it wait Frances?"

  "Why? Are you actually in danger of doing something?"

  Peter raises his head. How dare she? Talking to him like that!

  "Have you talked to Carole?"

  "That's not a work issue is it?".

  "Yes, it’s a work issue if you’re distracted, and if you’re jeopardising projects we’ve been working on for months. Yes, I’d say it is a bloody work issue Pete! Work and life. You can’t separate them because they make you what you are. They are two sides of the same coin. Sort out your problems with Carole, she’s a great kid. Then you’ll get a grip on your work here".

  Peter stands up sharply and moves his head threateningly close to Frances.

  She recoils, frightened, but stands her ground. "Oh, you’re going to hit me? At this rate, I'll only be on your side because I'm paid to be". She coughs. Unable to breathe.

  He looks at Frances with dark eyes beneath the mop of hair. He sneers.

  Fear wins over. "Pete, what’s got into you?" Frances leaves the office, slamming the door.

  He sits down and hits 'Send' on the email. He needs a drink. He gets up and limps out. The leg playing up badly today. The limp nearly crippling him in agony as he crosses reception. No sign of Frances. To the lift then. No way he can manage the stairs.

  Geraint riding his bike slowly up the road through the village. No one much around, but he needs to be careful. Mustn't be seen to be rushing off to see her. To talk to her. To have her. Geraint has not been so excited in his entire life. Knowing that when he gets there, she'll want him. No more awkwardness. Just sex. And with a woman he's fancied since he was a boy. And now she's made him a man. Geraint gets to the edge of the village and pedals hard. Heart racing, blood coursing through his body. Legs pumping hard. Breathing heavy. Only thinking of one thing. Carole.

  Carole has finished sweeping the bedroom floor. A couple of dead mice. Hundreds of flies. Newspapers back to the 1950s. Dust and dirt. Another rubbish bag full of the remnants of Phillips. How could anyone live like this? Next it needs a wash down. The floorboards are black. Maybe she'll hire an industrial sander, sand them down, stain and revarnish.

  Time to get the mattress out. Back to the kitchen to get the washing up gloves. It seems so disgusting, she can't bear touch it with her bare hands. But it has to be done. Get it the hell out of here. Reclaim the cottage as her own. Move her own mattress onto the bed. It should have been the first thing she thought of on getting here. Why has she not dealt with this?

  Pulling off the dirty sheet and pillows. Filling more rubbish bags. Out with them. Putting them against the garden wall ready for the refuse collection.

  The front door slamming behind her again. No way! She'd propped it open! Enough! Carole pushes hard against the door and it opens. She's angry now. She storms back for the bedroom. She can still see the dust in the air, just standing there. She grabs the mattress. It weighs a bloody ton. Surely it can't be this heavy? Dragging it off the bed. Struggling. It slams onto the floor with a crash, almost like there's someone lying on it. Dragging it across the floor to the bedroom door takes all of her strength.

  Stuck. It won't get through the door. Having to stand it up. It stinks. Pulling it upright is almost impossible, like having to roll a body off it. Where it touches her it leaves marks on her T shirt, hurting her nipples as it rubs hard against her. Carole is furious, dragging at it, pull by pull forcing it through the door.

  Into the living room. She can't stop it flopping back flat on the floor. Dragging its deadweight towards the front door. Trying to open the door. It won't budge again. What the fuck is wrong with this door? Dragging the door open, her foot against the door making sure it doesn't slam again. Gripping the mattress, dragging it through the gap, the dust covering her. Coughing hard. The mattress hurting her chest as it rubs against her. Battling it through the door.

  A hand on her shoulder. Carole screams!

  "Sorry!" Geraint backs away holding up his hands defensively.

  "Oh Jesus Christ you scared me!" Carole gets her breath back. "Give me a hand with this please".

  "Let me do it". Geraint drags the mattress out of the house. Fighting to keep it upright. He manhandles it out of the gate and dumps it against the garden wall with the rubbish bags. He is covered in the dust and dirt. He coughs to clear his lungs.

  Carole watches him move. The muscles. The strength. She looks at the dirt on his shirt over that chest. "You're clothes are all dirty. Let me wash them for you".

  Geraint laughs. "Have you seen yours?" He turns to Carole. She is staring at him. Her hair darker somehow. She takes off her dirty T shirt. Her body glistening with sweat in the sunshine. She kicks off her shoes. She undoes her jeans. Pulls down her knickers. She stands there naked, staring at Geraint. He stands there breathless. Speechless. The blood rushing from his head. She goes inside the cottage, out of sight. Geraint follows.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  English Girls

  Phillips raging as Carole and Geraint make love on the mattress in front of the fireplace. In his house!

  This is what he knew was happening just before he came home to find his wife with the school teacher that evening. He found them in the kitchen, drinking tea. As innocent as you like. But something had got into his wife. He was often told that women wanted men. But there was no sign of that with Rachel. Until they moved to Pantyfedwen.

  Rachel. An English girl from Hereford. Not a great distance away from here, but a different country. Aware of Welsh, but never able to say a word. Hadn't tried. It was expected that if someone married a non Welsh speaker, the couple and their children and indeed the entire family would only speak English from that point onwards. That was the way of things. Englishness establishing itself over the Welsh language in a way that the forces of Empire had never quite managed.

  And now another English girl in his house ignoring him as his wife had done. Leading astray a local man as his wife had done. Breaking her vows. Phillips slams the front door.

  He stands in middle of the road near the turning for the mountains. Waiting for her to come home from the school. Making sure she doesn't go off with him over the mountains to the towns in the south. But where is she tonight? Where's Rachel?

  She's wearing a clean T shirt and shorts which hang loose on her. Her black hair running down her back. Bringing in two sets of clothes from the washing line, which have dried in a couple of hours in the breeze. She has hung the washing line around the bedroom side of the cottage where it is very difficult to see from the road. Not wanting anyone knowing the boy is here with her lest Ifan be told about it.

  Carole stops in her tracks. What???? What did she just think? Carole takes a breath. She walks back to the cottage watching her own reflection in the window. Definitely her. Why wouldn't it be? What's going on? What the hell was she thinking just now?

  First thing this morning her mind was clear. Her task to clean the place out. Out with the old, in with the new. The boy comes back and she loses her mind again. She is not in control of her own thoughts nor actions. Enjoying every second with him. But this is crazy. Not wrong exactly, but...

  Geraint stretched out naked on her mattress. Her bed. He's asleep. Teenagers sleep for hours. Let him sleep. She puts his clean clothes on the mattress. Think girl. What are you going to do about this situation?

  The wind is picking up. She opens the front door, propping it open. Allowing the wind to blow through the house. Cleansing it of the atmosphere she hopes. She has been here for a few days and she's not done anything like what she planned to do with the place in that time. A deep clean. Clear out the rubbish. Repaint. Then see what needs to be done by
tradesmen. So far only one room done, and that was on the first day. Since then nothing finished.

  But is it more important that she has fun? With this boy? Fixing up this place is not the priority. Its fixing herself after Pete. After Pete... There, she's said it. Carole stands in the doorway to feel the breeze flowing past her. Hopefully blowing away whatever fugue is getting into her here. The wind whistles and moans.

  "That wind, its spooky even in daylight. It's like the trees are talking". Geraint hugs her from behind. Strong arms. Naked.

  Carole fighting it. No, she's not going to lose control. She has to be strong. Think of Dad. The reason she came here. "My dad used to call the trees the English Army of Occupation. That used to upset my Mum, being an English girl. He remembered Cwm Celyn as open country when he was a boy. He never really told me why he never moved back though. Probably because the place had changed so much".

  "There were pictures in the pub before it closed last year. They showed what Cwm Celyn used to be like. Open country. The Government bought up all the farms and planted these trees after the war. People thought it would bring work. But its poisoned the earth. The soil is very acidic now an old farmer told me. No one will be able to farm here for generations, if ever again. The only work for my friends around here is cutting the things down".

  "You're a very articulate young man. University will do you good. It might even stop you being scared of the wind in a haunted house".

  "That’s not fair! This place scared the hell out of us when we were kids". Damn. He'd promised himself not to talk about this. The last thing he wants to do is to scare Carole away.

  "So tell me more about this Mr Phillips who lived here. I only met him once in your shop. Oh and out on the road. I nearly ran him over".

  Old Man Phillips. Geraint hated him. "Few people would have been sorry if you had. He was an odd bugger! He used to stand in the middle of the road. They said he was waiting for his wife to come home. But she had been dead for decades".

  Carole remembers almost running over Phillips in the middle of the road. He had made no attempt to get out of the way. Like he had a death wish.

  "They say he went strange around the time his wife drowned in the lake. People say he killed her, but no one could prove it. I believe it though because he was really nasty".

  Carole's mind suddenly clicks into overdrive. The seaman killed his wife. Phillips may have killed his wife. No wonder there's a bloody atmosphere in the cottage! Bad enough that the old man had killed himself here. No wonder this place was selling cheap! Why didn't anybody say anything about this? "Let’s get out of here".

  "Where would you like to go? To the lake?"

  "No. When we were down at the ruined cottage yesterday. The high land, above the forestry".

  "The oak trees? Gelli Dywyll?".

  "Yes. What does that mean?"

  "The Dark Grove. Why do you want to go up there?"

  The flat. Silent. Blinds drawn. The unpleasant smell. Cocooned from the city outside. A blue glow in the living room. A figure sitting on the sofa sipping from another whiskey bottle. Long hair falling across his face. The business suit he wears is full. Stretching with the strength of the man who is wearing it. He is slumped, staring at the picture of Carole on the iPad. Muttering under his breath. "Exodus. Chapter 22. Verse 18. 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'".

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Dark Grove

  Carole & Geraint walking westwards along the road. Sammy trotting behind them. The wind hissing through the trees. Big white clouds rolling over them in the sky above, but up ahead, hill fog. Not burnt off by the summer sunshine today. Unusual.

  Geraint puts his arm around Carole's waist but she shrugs it off. She is going to keep control. Everything on her terms now. After this morning and yesterday, she has to let the boy down gently. He's genuinely nice. What makes it worse is she will be seeing him every Christmas and summer she comes down here until he leaves university. Then like everybody else here, he will probably have to move away. Educated out of his square mile.

  This afternoon she'll try to reset the gauge. Friends yes. Lovers no. Without breaking the lad's heart. That is quite an ask. She needs to be gentle. Carole takes Geraint by the hand.

  The smile returning to Geraint's face. That was odd. Did he cross the line? No one can see them out here together. And now she's holding his hand again. He can't work Carole out. Its like she is a different girl every minute.

  "You know I have a boyfriend?"

  Here goes. The knot in Geraint's stomach tightens. "You've mentioned him. I've never seen him". He's lying. Keep your story straight and it'll be OK. Never even hint at what you've seen. So this is the time to fight his corner. Be a man. How can he compete with that bastard? What can he do? All he can do is play the nice guy. "So why did this boyfriend leave you here on your own?"

  "We had a fight the first night I was here. He left in the morning. But really things have been going wrong for a while. Things just came to a head I suppose".

  "When is he coming back?". Feeling the sting of tears at the back of his eyes. Keep it together. Play the grown up. How long does he have to keep this up before she lets the bastard go?

  "I don't know. He won't return my calls or texts. He hasn't phoned me at all". Carole weighing this up in her mind. Yes. The evidence is there. Peter and her are no longer an item. That's huge. That's fucking huge. The flat... Shit!

  "So are you going to leave him?"

  A simple question, and perhaps fair enough. But things can't get more complicated with this boy. Keep control. "I could... now. It takes years to build trust but you can lose it in a moment. And if you break someone's trust, it doesn't come back".

  "So it was a bad argument?" Damn! Don't push things. 'If someone has wounds don't scratch them' as Mam says.

  "I saw a side of him I'd never seen before. It went on for hours. It was the worst argument we ever had. By a long way. Its strange I can't really remember what we were like together before the fight. It cancelled out everything we had built for three years in one evening. I tried to stop it, but he was drunk. He said and did things I couldn't believe. And I never really thought about this. I can't forgive him". Carole stops in her tracks. Raw.

  She hugs Geraint. Holding him tight. Face in his chest.

  "He was my first serious boyfriend after university. I met him shortly after I moved to London. I was looking for a job in the city. We met. He took me out... He put me forward for a job at the company where he works... I got the job, and that's when I found out he was living with a girl... I honestly had no idea. They split up and she left the company. All my fault but I knew nothing I swear! It explains why I never really made any friends at work. They were all her friends".

  "I heard London is a dog eat dog sort of place".

  "It is. Sometimes you have to take what you want in this world. But I'm not that kind of person. I work hard. I earn my way. I was shocked by what he had done, but he said it was all because he loved me. He was so nice to me. I believed him".

  "So were you going to get married?"

  Were. Already its in the past. "We got a place together. My mum and dad were expecting that we would. But he never asked and I didn't push. I think I just assumed we would".

  "Sounds like he made you totally dependent on him. He had you needing him for everything".

  Carole pulls her face out of Geraint's chest and looks up at him. "You're very astute for your age".

  "Just because I'm your toy boy doesn't mean I'm immature".

  Carole laughs. "Wise beyond your years young man".

  Geraint leans forward to kiss Carole, but she lets him go and turns away. She leads him by the hand further down the road.

  Confusion clouding Geraint's mind again. What does this woman want? Now she's holding his hand but won't kiss him. An hour ago she was riding him like a pornstar in her cottage. What the hell is going on here? Is she leading him up the garden
path? Should he be angry? Should he play it cool? Is she having PMT? That's what the boys at rugby say when their girlfriends go nuts. Or is she genuinely nuts? Fuck! What's going on?

  The mist rolls in over Capel Celyn and the forest.

  They head off down the overgrown path to Nant y Cadno. Carole lets go of Geraint's hand. She leads the way, stepping quickly and urgently through the undergrowth. Geraint watches her. She's not acknowledging him now. Looking straight ahead. Seemingly detached. In her own world. Stopping at the tree line. Watching the abandoned cottage. Hiding slightly in the trees. Hiding from what?

  Geraint watches, a little scared. Why is she behaving this way? "Carole?"

  She doesn't respond. Like he's not there. Like she is in another time. Seeing something else. She moves off quickly within the trees. Geraint makes to follow, but she's disappeared. Gone. What the hell is she playing at?

  Geraint steps out into the sunlight and walks in the general direction she went. Towards the foot of the little hill on which stands the grove. Gelli Dywyll. Looking dark even in the sunshine. Probably how it got its name.

  Still no sign of Carole. "Carole!?!" Sammy running around his feet, having also lost track of her.

  Geraint looks at the cottage in the sunshine. Vague images in his mind. Sitting in front of a fire. An older woman crying. Him crying. Someone has died. The chill of recognition of that feeling. A deep connection. His dad dying when he was a boy. A lump in Geraint's throat.