A Rough Kind of Magic

by Louise James

  Greg awoke to Rocky barking and the slam of the jeep door. Oh God! She was here, he no more wanted to face her than fly yet his heart leapt he and Rocky made it to the door together. The rain drove across the yard and Olwen entered with a swirl of leaves and raindrops, black shiny mac and tangled hair. The room became alive with colour and movement as if it had been waiting for this moment. Greg found his arms full, hair on his lips, rain on his face, clinging as the room swung in a bubble of delight. All thoughts suspended, this moment was theirs alone, lips on lips, hands tangled in hair, ice cold cheek against warm, storm and stillness, passion and peace, one perfect whole. Nothing else existed; all was here in a kind of magic. Along while later they moved apart, she sliding out of her mac and boots, he taking them from her in silence; no need for speech. He poured her a glass of wine. She glowed up at him dressed in a bright yellow ski suit, curled on the hearth rug she was summer come again. Greg poured his own wine and sat on the arm of a chair where he could enjoy the picture she made. Everything fled from his mind in the joy of having her here with him.

  “Oh! I have had such a week. I wanted to come home yesterday but I couldn’t cut anything at all. Every lecture went on and on and I was given extra classes. I thought it would be never ending. What have you been doing with yourself?” He told her the bits and bobs of his week, not very exciting he admitted then fell silent. Olwen chattered on. The choir was starting up again and she had two solo parts. “You haven’t heard me sing yet, have you? Poor you the pleasure is to come.”

  Drama classes were difficult because they couldn’t decide on a production. Her mother was coming to stay with Gran for a week but they wouldn’t get on for long but Greg would be able to meet her. He listened in silence filling his senses. The movements of her exquisite mouth, the picture she made as her red-gold hair swung over her yellow suit, sparkles deep in her eyes, her perfume and lilting tones as she enacted her stories. How he longed once more to possess this beauty who so invited him, from the soft hollow where her throat swept into the deep swell of her breasts to her long flexing feet now held to the fire. His heart thumped painfully as he remembered what he must say and what he must not do. The moments of madness when she first arrived must not be repeated or he would be lost forever. She fell silent at last staring into the fire then holding out her hand she caught his trying to pull him down to her. Gently he took her hand in both his. “Olwen…” he began. She knelt up in one fluid movement and laid her arm across his knee.

  “You know what happened the last time I was here don’t you?” She asked almost anxiously

  “Of course, how could I forget?” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Well you are going to think it’s the brazen hussy that I am but never have I felt about anyone like this in my whole life. Hush now.” As Greg tried to speak…

  “Listen and let me finish then you can tell me what you think and I will listen but if you feel the way I am feeling you will be knowing the answer. We are both in our thirties and we have both been in long relationships that went nowhere at all. We are running out of time Greg and I am thinking that I know what we both want. I want to pack up Worcester after next term. I have enjoyed it but I think it is time I tried something different. You need help here and something to work for. The fun we could be having. It would be a good life Greg, we could be doing something with this place but…” again as he went to speak she held up her hand.

  “Don’t you feel that we need some form of commitment? Oh” I can’t be waiting for you to ask me. I’m asking you. Will you marry me Greg? Now soon so we can get on with our lives together?”

  The silence was deathly. Greg tried desperately to speak. Mist came before his eyes, his heart hammering. How he longed to say yes and take her in his arms. He swallowed, rose staggering and turned away. Olwen sat back on her heels the colour draining from her face.

  “Greg, what is it? What’s the matter?”

  He moved away shaking to the far side of the room facing the wall. To save his life he couldn’t speak at all. As he fought for control a log fell in the grate in a shower of sparks. Olwen rose slowly to her feet.

  “Greg, answer me.” She shouted. “What the hell is the matter? Did you hear what I said?” Anger and fear were in her voice now. Greg turned very slowly, rigid with shock, his face haggard, eyes stony. The music had long stopped it was as if the room was waiting. Olwen stood on the hearth, a flame of red and gold, head held high, eyes blazing face white as death itself, hands clenched into fists at her side. His eyes took in the scene even as his brain made his lips form the words.

  “I can’t.’

  “You what?’ her tone was incredulous. “What did you say? I thought you cared. Did I get it wrong?” Her lips suddenly trembled. “Don’t you care for me that way?” In two strides he was across the room but kept from touching her with an iron will.

  “Of course I did and I do.” Go on finish it now his head prompted while his heart bled. “It’s been lovely sweetheart, but I can’t marry you I must make you see that” his tongue was running away with him now. The words were coming out wrong, all wrong, too fast and wrong. “We had a great time, it was fun getting to know you and making friends but you will soon see it was just a beautiful interlude that has no future for you. It was wonderful of you to ask me and I only wish that I could say yes but it is impossible. If you will sit down and let me explain you will see.”

  Olwen choked back tears, her eyes blazing fury.

  ‘Friends, fun, interlude?’ How dare you? What kind of man are you? Making love the way we did after only a few weeks, the magic the fitness of it all and you can stand there like an idiot, hear me make a complete fool of myself like the brazen hussy I feel and call this an interlude. What kind of bastard are you?”

  Greg tried in vain to stop the angry flow of words.

  “Please listen, Olwen. I didn’t mean it like that. All the wrong things are coming out. Please sit down and listen I will try to explain.”

  “Explain will you? That’s what you think. I’ll not be needing explanations. You could have explained before that you were not really interested in commitment. You used me but I don’t need you. I don’t want to see you ever again and that will be too soon so.” As she spoke she was pulling on her boots, grabbing her mac the tears pouring down her ashen face. Greg grabbed her arm.

  “Please Darling don’t do this. I can’t let you go like this. There is a reason. Please listen.” He heard the slap before he felt the pain.

  “Let me go, don’t be coming near me. How could I be such a fool? As if you’d want to be marrying me. You who have the fine looks, little farm and the money to do as you like with your bachelor friends, girls too most like. Stephanie wanted you back she can have you and most welcome.” The door slammed so hard it shook the house. He ran, determined to stop her but she was gone into the jeep reversing in such a hurry she hit the stone wall of the garden. Straightening up and reversing down the lane, she hit the mountain road at such a speed Greg raced for the phone for Jeff Arnold to stop her. He changed his mind spotting his keys on the table, he ran for the pick-up instead. Slow to start Greg was cursing the truck furiously as he took to the hill after her.

  At every bend he expected to see her piled in a ditch or over the hedge. He felt sick when he thought about the bad bends at the bottom of the hill road. She had a good start. He followed the hill road around and back to Bronwyn’s cottage the jeep was not there. There were no lights except a glow in an upper window. He rang her mobile again and again but it was switched off; now he didn’t know which way to go or what to do.

  It was raining again but he drove around like a maniac for over an hour. It was hopeless, too many lanes and she knew them well and he didn’t. Several times he wasted precious time killing the engine to listen for sounds on the other roads, wasted more time following lights up the mountain road, only to find his neighbour going home the other way, raced to T
he Copper Beech although crowded there was no sign of the jeep. He tried The Green man, again drew a blank. Two hours later, almost out of fuel he was forced to give up and go home. He had left the door wide open and all the lights on, he realised with fear he had left Rocky alone but the dog was waiting for him on the yard barking as he drove wearily in. He shut the gate and stood shivering and heart-sick for a long while, straining ears and eyes for a sign of the jeep returning. At last a set of lights were coming slowly down the hill above him. He ran back down the drive and stood in the road willing it to be her. As it drew near he saw it was just another car, probably a couple who had been courting on the hill road. Sick at heart, soaked through, he finally went in and closed the door. There was simply nothing he could do. She may have driven straight back to Worcester also she had many friends she could go to. There was no one he knew of to ring. He would talk to Bronwyn in the morning. He glanced at his watch, gone midnight, no good now he would only worry her. He spent the night on the settee with a blanket waiting for what; he didn’t know. she was badly hurt and had a nasty temper but surely she would calm down and come back to talk it through.

  He had tried to tell her, it was her fault for flying off like that. ‘No it was your fault.’ His conscience told him. ‘You should have told her when you made love to her, should have told her as soon as she came last night. Anytime you could have told her, Phoned, written. It’s your fault.’ He beat his fist on the arm of the settee ‘Last night you should have been gentle, not stood the other side of the room like a mute. She took me by surprise, I couldn’t handle it, should have held her, kissed her, told her why. A fat lot of good that would have done. Really this is better, now she doesn’t have to know at all. You have achieved what you wanted. Olwen’s gone you never need see her again.’ The pain grew as he tossed and turned. When Rocky heard the hard sobs, he put his furry head against the dark one on the cushion until a hand came down and caressed him. Finally they both slept.

  The cockerel woke before real light. Rocky hearing him rose and shook himself, he hated the cockerel and stalked him whenever he could. Greg showed no signs of waking but his bare feet hung over the arm of the settee, his head deep in cushions. Rocky set to with a thorough washing of them the only bits he could find. With a groan Greg woke. “Leave off Rocky, it’s too early. All right you can go out and torment the cockerel but you’ll find he’s not out yet.”

  He staggered to the door as soon as it opened Rocky shot off barking at the pigeons that were feeding off the new lawn. The early light sprinkled diamonds everywhere but the rain had gone and a clear sky promised a fair day. Greg remembered with sudden clarity and a deep sick sensation the events of the night before. He sat back on the settee his head in his hands. He seemed to be lurching from one crisis to another. He wasn’t worried now about money although he would have to find an income soon. God knows what his health was like after all the stress. He had a hospital appointment Friday. He dare not think about Olwen except he must ring Bronwyn tell her what happened she could find out if she was safe. She must have gone back to Worcester; eventually she might have calmed down and would listen if he could speak to her this morning. Surely she would listen, he had a right damn it. At nine o’clock he rang Bronwyn.

  “I’m sorry she has gone.’ Came the answer to his questions. ‘She came in during the early hours and left me a note to say she had gone straight back to Worcester about four o’clock this morning. Fine goings on, I take it you told her. What happened?” There came a sharp intake of breath as Greg found himself telling her of Olwen’s proposal. There was a silence before she spoke.

  “I see.” A pause, “Let her get over it, lot of pride that girl, too much for her own good. She will come back when she is good and ready. You were too slow, should have beaten her to the door and made her listen. Still what will be will be. I have chickens to feed. Thanks for checking on her, good lad.” The phone went dead.

  Greg stared at it for a while then slowly replaced the receiver. He tried Olwen’s mobile with his own again, no reply. He spent the morning finishing small jobs on the Land Rover put in some petrol and started her up. She fired almost at once and Greg moved her back and fore in the small space but it was clear it was impossible to get her out until the tractor was moved. He then tried to move some more junk from the front of the shed but tired, ill and dispirited he found himself listening unreasonably for the jeep to return. Later he tried to eat, failed then went to bed for a couple of hours. He felt better at teatime and decided to go to the pub to see if the food there would tempt him. He almost phoned Ray or his parents to say what happened but Ray would only say ‘I told you so’ and his parents would want to rush up and he knew his mother wasn’t well anyway he decided that he couldn’t talk it all over again. He put Rocky in the truck while he locked the house but as he went to open the gate a quick movement caught his eye as Luke Jeffries scuttled down the drive and a few seconds later his Land Rover was going up the hill road. Greg worried as he drove to the pub as to why he would be in his drive, another attempt on Rocky perhaps? What was the matter with the man? Was the dog that valuable? It was certain that he had never owned him or was he just unbalanced? He sighed. ‘More problems for us, dog. You have to come in with me tonight. Not leaving you anywhere.’ He parked up and not at all in the mood entered the pub

  Chapter 27

  The captain was sat at the bar talking to John. The fat farmer who had come as usual on horseback was talking to a white-haired old man Greg had not seen before. Several lads he had seen at the dance were playing cards in the corner. Trudy came out of the kitchen and smiled at Greg.

  “Hello there. Are you having a meal or a drink tonight?’

  “Both. What do you recommend?”

  “It’s all good depends how hungry you are,” Trudy dimpled, pleased to have his full attention.

  “Not very but I could manage egg, chips and a half of cider”

  “Good. I won’t keep you long.” She laid his place and brought his cider before disappearing into the kitchen.

  “Good evening everyone.” Betty made her entrance and the Captain rose to his feet. “You are a vision of loveliness, my dear.” He raised her hand to his lips in a theatrical gesture. “How are you? Is everything ship-shape and Bristol fashion?”

  “You are an old flatterer, Captain. I bet you had a girl in every port didn’t he John?”

  “All ships have to come to dry dock sometime and it’s a dry one tonight. I’ll have another small glass of rum if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay Captain.” The talk irritated Greg tonight he found no amusement in what sounded like an overdone script rehearsal. He took his drink and sat in the far window seat wishing that Ray was here or that Olwen would walk in. He felt very alone. Two lads came in who Greg recognised as his neighbour’s sons. They nodded to Greg and joined the Captain at the bar. His meal finished Greg sat with Rocky on his feet feeling less and less like returning home. His thoughts were too depressing, the warmth and light making him sleepy. He was feeling the effects of the previous night. Half asleep in his window seat he was startled awake by the white-haired man who had been talking with the Captain. His drink in his hand he pulled up a chair. “Can I join you for a moment? You look as if you could do with a little company.”

  “Yes of course.” Greg forced himself awake. “Please do” The man appeared to be in his seventies or thereabouts, fresh faced, clean shaven with a pair of twinkling blue eyes. His thick white hair gave him a grandfatherly appearance.

  “Let me introduce myself. My name is Fred Barnes from Tynewedd, the farm you can just see in the valley when yer stand on the road above yer gate. You see I already know who you are. Your name is Greg Morgan, you come from Hull, bought Greg-y-Dorth. There is not a body about here who knows what yer came here to do and they’re all guessing. A young single man from away taking a old mountain place like that and not going to farm?” He sat back eyeing Greg with d
elight as if he had just solved the whole puzzle himself. Greg laughed. “You’ve got it in one but the truth is I don’t know what to do with it myself. It’s not big enough to farm properly and I am limited as to what I can do. I have a health problem. Too much hard work is out of the question.”