A Rough Kind of Magic

by Louise James

  His stomach growled loudly and he burst into almost uncontrollable laughter, ‘I’ll do it later but I had better eat something first, damn and blast it all, I’m bloody hungry’. The irony of this struck him and he laughed until he cried again heartbroken. His sobs gradually died away, in their place grew slowly a great calm; watching the blood from his hand dripping onto a broken plate at his feet; a sense of peace entered his heart and held him as gently as a child rocked in safe arms, a strange feeling of almost contentment eased his tired brain, he was aware of sanity returning. He crouched down again on the floor, absorbed in wonder something had entered his soul out of the pit, the sensation of strong arms lifting him gently and firmly driving away the madness, pain and fear.

  A car backfiring in the street roused him and a deep growl from his empty stomach forced him into action. The cut in his hand was still bleeding though more slowly; crunching his way to the bathroom he washed it clean and bound it as best he could. It didn’t appear to need stitches. He looked at himself in the mirror, a haggard face with bloodshot eyes looked back, and a few strange lines around the eyes had not been there before. His clothes were creased, smelling of stale sweat and vomit. His natural fastidiousness sent him into the shower where he stood a long time under the hot before switching to cold. With a shaking hand but a calm eye he shaved and dressed in fresh jeans and a dark blue shirt. He drank a bottle of milk from the fridge, his stomach churned then settled. ‘Thank God I didn’t turn myself lose in the kitchen’ he thought wryly.

  He scrambled eggs, making toast and coffee, eating hungrily before arming himself with black bags, dustpan and brush. Two hours later his room although with deleted possessions was somehow back to a semblance of normality except for the ruined carpet, tired out he crawled into bed and into a deep sleep.

  Next morning he carried the remaining fish in their bowl to a house down the street where he knocked firmly. The door flew open and a very small person with a tousled head of dark curls appeared around it. There was a shriek of delight. ‘Uncle Greg’s here. Mummy, Mummy, it Uncle Greg and he’s got fishes!”

  A tall slim woman came running down the stairs. “Hi Greg haven’t seen you in a long while, you want to come in?” Her American accent softened after years of travelling with her nomadic husband Lee Ross, Patsy was good to look at even first thing in the morning. Huge pansy brown eyes and a riot of curls like her daughter Patsy drew attention wherever she went. An army family, friends of Stephanie, it had been difficult to remain so after the breakup though Lee and Greg sometimes met at the social club Samantha their adorable four year old adored Uncle Greg and he often brought her small gifts. Now Sammy stood at the door finger on lips her sparkling violet eyes questioningly on the bowl of pretty coloured fish.

  “Not at the moment thanks, Patsy. Hey Sammy, do you think Daddy would like some more fish for his tank?”

  “My tank” stated Sammy emphatically. “My fish, Daddy only cleans them for me.”

  Patsy and Greg laughed.

  “Well! Here are a few more for you,” smiled Greg handing the bowl to her mother. “I had an accident with my tank and I don’t have time to set it up again at present, I thought Sammy might like them?”

  “Course I do.” Sammy held up her arms for a kiss. Greg crouched to her level and felt warm arms around his neck. “Thank you Uncle Greg. I’ll go tell the others they are coming.” She ran off down the passage.

  “Thank you Greg.” Patsy noticed his hand. Why, you’ve hurt yourself.” He put his bandaged hand into his pocket. Patsy was staring at him.

  “You alright Honey? You look kind of sick since I last saw you. Won’t you come in and visit for a while? I was so upset about you and Steph, she babysits sometimes. She’s alright now but you look awful. Anything I can do you just say. Come on in.”

  “No, I can’t just now but thank you. Can I ask a favour? I am going to see my parents for a while I may move down there, I’m selling my flat but I don’t yet know my plans. There is a lot of food in my freezer and I have plants, you know the sort of things. Could I unload them on you? Sorry to be a nuisance, say if you’d rather not and I’ll dump them.”

  “Sure you can, glad to help but we don’t want to say goodbye Greg. Do you have to go?”

  “I think it will be for the best, I will know more when I get back. I’ll pop the perishables around in the morning. Thank you.”

  “Anytime Honey, I’ll make room in the big icebox today. Hope you come back soon. Greg, should I say anything to Stephanie?”

  ‘Lord, no It’s all over and she knows that, better not to mention it at all. Say goodbye to Lee if I don’t see him before I go.” She kissed him briefly before closing the door. Greg decided he would leave the goods in the porch early in the morning rather than face further questions. He sat in thought that evening. His new found calm still with him, his mind clear. The storm had passed, cleansed him, throwing him like flotsam on the beach, high above the tide of his agony and anger. Rebellion still burned within him but the fire was taking a more positive role, almost forcing him to make decisions. He took mental stock. He would have liked to throw himself into his work, he loved it and was good at it, work until the pain and illness forced him to stop but he knew the firm he was contracted to would not allow it. Mr McLaughlin would make his report, he would be granted indefinite sick leave but after a reasonable time they would pressurise for a replacement far better to retire gracefully. He was damned if he would go into any rest home to lie waiting for a donor to be found, he would rather go out in Ray’s boat and end it there. That thought struck him for a moment then Mr McLoughlin’s last words to him were. ‘While there is life there is hope and hope springs eternal’ No he was no coward. The madness had passed in the night along with his anger and fear. He would see it through to the end, whatever it was but where and with whom? He had better find an answer soon. He thought of his parents. John and Sally Morgan were people rather set in middle-age. The blow he was about to give them would be devastating. He hadn’t lived with them for years there was no way he could live with them now. He loved them dearly but couldn’t stand his mother’s protective attentions His heart bled for them, telling them would have to be a gradual process. He could say that he was exhausted and came home to have a break and rest, blood condition maybe. They would have to know the truth sooner or later but he would play it cool until he decided what he wanted to do. Thoughts whirled through his head like leaves. His mother had been upset over his break up with Steph and might think this a good time to get them back together. No way, the one thing he was going to do in the time that he had was to please himself as much as possible. He didn’t know how much mobility time he had the time would come surely when he would have to be nursed so he would make sure of this precious time and presume that a donor would be found. As he sat pondering a thought struck him. He had always wanted to take a holiday in Wales. Grandfather had been born on the borders near the Black mountains. He remembered visiting the little farm as a child; he had wanted to go back but something always prevented him. Suddenly he knew what he wanted to do; go and look for his roots return to the land of his fathers. Perhaps in finding his past he might find acceptance of his future.

  Chapter 3

  The rain that had been threatening all morning unleashed its fury as Greg left Swansea heading for the heads of the valley road over Merthyr Tydfil. He soon had to put wipers and headlights on full as visibility decreased over the mountains. He was later leaving his parents then he intended, they were reluctant to see him go cooking him breakfast then persuading him to brunch. The week he had stayed with them had been a strain as he tried to keep his secret but his father had soon realised there was something wrong and on one of their evening rambles Greg had to tell him. His father aged before his eyes, they both sat for a while on an old stone trough in a lonely lane while he fought for control.

  He very reluctantly agreed that Sally should not be told yet
as she wouldn’t have let Greg leave and his father realised when they were able to discuss it without tears that he should live out his life as he chose, it would be the only way he could cope as his mother would wrap him in cotton wool and never let him out of her sight. John being an independent person himself understood his son’s need for solitude and space.

  “Only a short while until you get things sorted in your mind. Your mother must be told soon” Even so he was hesitant to agree as Sally’s anger and grief would be devastating. Greg’s eyes filled as he recalled his father’s anguish and the desperate clinging of his arms. He was a lay preacher and Greg knew his faith would sustain him. The situation with his mother was made a lot easier as she was excited and preoccupied with a cousin’s wedding taking place the following week. She had made the bridesmaids dresses and was helping with the catering and was so delighted to have her son home and show him off among her friends and neighbours. Greg told her he was on sick leave but made time to drive her around suffering heartache at her pride in him. When he told them he was heading for the Black mountains to find his grandfather’s farm, she was delighted and thought it would do him good. “You are looking peaky dear. The holiday will do you good.”

  He hated leaving his father with his awful burden although Greg knew that he would cope. John had been a miner and school governor as well as a lay preacher during his life around Swansea, all his troubles would be firmly left in the hands of God and if prayers were answered Greg would live. Maybe from this background Greg inherited a strong upper lip and strength of character that was now coming to his aid. He had always hero worshipped his father. John Morgan was a good and brave man, on two occasions in the pit he had saved men’s lives, once during an explosion and again pulling a young lad from the path of a tram; each time the deed had been done and little said but the men had known and told many more. John was loved and respected practising what he preached; many a child had been helped through college with a word here or a pound there. Few of his neighbour’s lives had not been touched in some way with a timely word or a helping hand. Greg remembered that he always had time to spare and if money was needed he reached into his own pocket or raised funds elsewhere being a great fund raiser he always gave generously of his time and energy.

  Greg inherited many of his qualities while from his mother came his exceptional good looks, the large grey-green eyes, her wit and charm. Sally sang in the choir was always good for babysitting, cake making and with her flair for dressmaking was kept busy with weddings and other functions. It was she who had formed the local craft group and their exhibitions were well known. Her eyes were merry and her wit sharp, tea and gossip were the breath of life to her, matchmaking and practical jokes were often traced back to Sally, never hurtful or unkind or doing harm she nevertheless often tried her more serious husband’s patience but he adored her and her puckish nature did not diminish with age.

  Greg was the centre of their world and they had been good parents. His father had made sure that he had a good education and his mother had played with him as a child so he had never missed out on siblings. He had grown up loved and secure, well balanced and self-confident from a happy and disciplined home. All these memories and more flitted through Greg’s mind as he drove down the valley to the little town of Abergavenny. Only last night Greg and his father had poured over maps of the Black mountains, John recalling incidents of life on the farm.

  “I left at seventeen to go in the army, returning on leave and later with Sally” he recalled. “Then when we married we came to live in Swansea then later when your grandad died, granny sold the farm and came to live with us. You remember her don’t you?”

  “I remember her stories of the house under the great rock and of all the animals; Briar the shire mare who worked the small fields. She told me about the sheep up on the hill but best of all I liked the stories about Rocky the black and white sheep dog who brought them all down when the snow came.”

  “After she died I had to tell them all over again”

  Greg laughed “I knew them all by heart and wouldn’t let you leave anything out. I only went there a few times when grandad was alive and I can only dimly remember it.”

  They had enjoyed reminiscing and both felt sad the farm had gone from the family.

  “I am looking forward to seeing it again. Maybe whoever owns it now may let me look around.”

  “Yes his father said sadly. “It should never have been sold. It had been in the family for over a hundred years but I was no farmer and there was no one else to take it on. Let us know how you find it and take some photos”

  “Of course I will.” They returned to the maps and it gave Greg a thrill to pin point where Greg-y-Dorth was and trace the lanes he would take. Now he was on his way. He needed to get to the area before dark and find somewhere to stay. He was still very disturbed himself and the strain of being with his parents and not being able to talk was getting to him. Following the map his father had marked he turned onto the Hereford road. He felt very guilty at driving himself but until told otherwise he would just take care, it wouldn’t be long until he had a letter wanting to know why he hadn’t notified them. The rain was easing now but the light fading and there seemed many lanes turning off into the hills, he worried that his father may have forgotten the way. Turning at the first pub he came to he headed up the valley. The road soon became a lane and he needed all his concentration as there were many bends and the hedges grew high, the lane became muddy, twisting and turning for what seemed miles. The sweep of the headlights on a particularly bad bend caught the grey bulk of ruins on the right. His heart sank his father had made no mention of any ruins he must be on the wrong road. “Damn! I will have to go back when I can turn around” As he slowed the car lights appeared on his left and to his great relief a sign swung to and fro ‘Old Abbey Inn’ B/B.

  ‘Thank God’ he sighed with relief, noticing with surprise that an unlit car park at the side of the building was full of vehicles. He had some difficulty in parking the car and finally entered to find a crowded bar. The room was full of loud talk and laughter, the smell of smoke, wet macs and three big dogs who were occupying all the space in front of a large open fire, giving off an odour more pungent than all besides keeping the heat off everyone else. Greg’s dream of a cosy pub supper vanished rapidly, if it wasn’t for the weather and the fact he was totally lost he would have driven off.

  “Evening Sir. What can I get you?” The young man behind the bar shook back his long black hair and reached for a glass.

  ‘I’m looking for a room for the night if you have one vacant”

  ‘Carol, Here a minuet’ The lad yelled over his shoulder. He turned back to Greg “Drink?’ ‘Half of Cider Please.” Greg nodded at the pump he was surprised at being so quickly served as people were standing elbow to elbow and two deep at the bar until he noticed that the focus of attention was an extremely attractive brunette at the far end of the room who was serving at least three people at the same time. There seemed to be a lot of talk about rallying and cars. A soft welsh voice spoke behind him.

  “Would you like to come through? It’s a bit quieter out here”

  Greg turned to see a pretty plump woman beckoning him into a back room, he assumed her to be the Landlady. He followed her into the haven of a small reception room where she moved behind a large desk, where a stand with leaflets of places to visit was almost obscured by a large potted palm. The room felt chilly and was poorly lit, two green leather settees stood against one wall while a huge painting of a snow covered mountain almost filled the other.

  “It was a room you were wanting, just one night was it? Single perhaps.”

  “Yes Please.” Greg replied. “You seem very busy tonight?”

  “Oh! It gets like this at times, there’s been a rally tonight, you see, up the valley. Mind you there is always something on, a dance maybe or we get hikers and pony trekkers according to the time o
f the year and the food is good here although I says it myself. Sometimes it’s a sheep sale all sorts of things really. On your own are you? Now will you want a single or a double?”

  Greg hesitated. He had been caught by the word single, a box room and a narrow bed?

  “You’ll find a double in all the rooms but we don’t charge if you’re a single if you know what I mean. New to the area are you? Visiting perhaps or were you in the rally? Haven’t seen you before, have I?”

  Greg’s sense of humour stirred, he was dying to say. “Oh! I’ve been coming here for weeks now. Haven’t you noticed me at the back of the crowd?’ A smile curved his lips, he firmly quenched the remark, she might take it as sarcasm and he would need her directions in the morning.

  “No I’m afraid I got lost. I was looking for the road to Graigwen but all this seems different to the directions I was given and not at all like the map.”

  “Oh! You are in the wrong valley entirely. Stranger you are to be sure. Never mind we’ll set you straight in the morning. Now breakfast! What time and do you need a call?’

  “About eight and I’m always awake early. Thank you?’ Greg was suddenly very tired, his chest ached and his legs felt weak.

  “Could I have some sandwiches and another half of cider in my room? Please.”

  Carol Evans had been admiring the good-looking young man and would have enjoyed extracting more information but his sudden pallor and the strain in his face stopped her. She felt sympathy so with great difficulty controlled her curiosity.

  “You must be tired. I’ll show you to your room and George will bring it up to you. What do you like ham, tongue, beef, you just say.”

  “I honestly don’t mind.” Greg was too tired to care.