Bells

by Jo Verity

  She smiled, revealing her perfect white teeth, and there was nothing in the world that he wanted to see more than red kites, even though he had no idea what they were. Of course he knew they were birds. Weren’t they? Birds of prey?

  ‘Wow.’ He recognised that this wasn’t an appropriate response and floundered on. ‘That’ll be a first for me…great…’

  ‘We’ll go in my car. Gareth should have yours fixed by the time we get back. Does that sound okay?’

  It sounded breathtakingly, gloriously, magnificently wonderful to Jack.

  Unfortunately Bonnie and Melvin were committed ornithologists and the foursome set out in search of the elusive birds.

  They drove for ten minutes, leaving the main road and climbing up towards the bluff, taking narrower and narrower lanes, Non driving confidently on, as if she knew that nothing would appear around the next corner.

  They left the car on the side of the road and joined a footpath, leading out onto the springy turf of the hillside. The prevailing wind, no more than a gentle breeze today, had distorted the scruffy hawthorns that dotted the landscape and they leaned at crazy angles. These enduring trees and the scrawny sheep that grazed the rough pasture, gave the scene a markedly biblical look. Melvin and Bonnie, although both on the large side, scampered up the steep slope as if it were their natural habitat and Jack, slight and muscular though he was, had his work cut out to keep up. He was carrying the small rucksack which Non had handed him. ‘Just a snack. A proper outing has to include a picnic, don’t you think?’

  ‘Abso…’ he panted ‘…lutely.’

  They reached the remains of a wall, now just a scattering of stones tumbling down the hillside, and found a spot to perch whilst they passed around the bottle of water and shared the biscuits from the bag. ‘I like to think that maybe one of my forefathers tended sheep on this very mountainside a coupla’ hundred years ago. We found several Merediths in the churchyard yesterday.’ Melvin spread his arms wide encompassing the vista. ‘My great-great-great granddaddy may have stood on this very spot and looked down into this very valley. Doesn’t it make you feel humble?’

  They walked on holding the contour, circling the belly of the hill, until Non, who was several yards ahead, extended an arm to signal a halt. ‘Look. Up and to your left. Towards the outcrop.’

  Jack looked up and saw two birds, silhouetted against the cloudless sky, circling and rising. ‘Wow.’ It was the appropriate word, exactly.

  When they got back, Jack’s car was parked in front of The Welcome Stranger and Gareth had left the keys, along with a note, on the kitchen table. ‘Loose lead. You owe me a pint next time you’re up this way.’

  ‘But I must pay him,’ he protested, ‘It should be double time for Sunday.’

  ‘You could buy him two pints,’ Non suggested, ‘next time you come.’

  He stared at her. Next time you come? ‘Okay. It’s a deal. But be sure to give him my thanks, won’t you? Now I’d better make a move.’

  He went upstairs to his room. Of course there was nothing to pack, but he wanted to file the details of it in his memory. The smell of lavender; the bathrobe on the back of the door; the patchwork bedspread; the hen coop at the end of the neat vegetable garden; and, beyond, the hills where the kites had soared. He took the unused handkerchief from his jacket pocket and placed it squarely in the centre of the drawer of the bedside table.

  They all came out to see him off, wishing him a safe journey, as if he were setting off to circumnavigate the globe. Melvin pushed a card into his hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Jack. Call by if you’re ever States-side. We’ll have a return game. American spellings, naturally…’

  The car started first time and, before he pulled away, Non opened the door and placed a grubby egg carton and a posy of roses on the seat next to him. ‘A memento of your country weekend,’ she said, slamming the door and waving him off.

  He watched her in the rear-view mirror until The Welcome Stranger Guesthouse disappeared around a bend in the road. As he passed the last house on the outskirts of Llangwm he remembered that he had no idea where he was and he stopped in a lay-by, consulting the map he had tossed behind the seat a mere twenty-four hours ago.

  It was only when he got home, and was reversing the car into the drive, that he remembered he hadn’t paid for his overnight accommodation.

  5

  Fay slept fitfully. It hadn’t been terribly late when she coaxed the semi-comatose Isabel up the stairs but, when she eventually put her bedside light out, the evening’s conversations had stirred up the sludge of her memory and particles of the past swirled around all night. She found that she was also re-running her encounter with Cassidy and finding it very…very what? Whatever it was, she liked it and wanted to keep the recollection bright and sharp.

  Early-morning singing drifted up the stairs. It sounded as though Laura was on top form. How wise she’d been to go to bed when she did. Fay could picture her below in the kitchen, chatting to Cassidy, running fingers through his tousled hair or kissing the back of his neck. She could kiss Dylan’s neck any time she liked, or Kingsley’s come to that, were he not on the other side of the world. Mothers were allowed to do that kind of thing but it was taboo behaviour for surrogate aunts, once nephews had passed their seventh birthday.

  A crumpled morning face stared back from the mirror on the wardrobe door. Puffy eyelids and a crease from the pillowcase across her pale cheek combined to make it look as though she hadn’t slept for days. Cheek slapping produced angry asymmetrical patches, reminiscent of a badly painted doll.

  A knock at the door made her jump. ‘Brought you a cup of tea.’ Laura tip-toed in and deposited a steaming mug on the bedside table. ‘There’s plenty of hot water if you fancy a bath.’

  ‘Lovely.’ From habit, Fay grabbed the mug off the unprotected wood and slid her book beneath it. ‘You’ll have a job rousing Izzy, though. She was a little the worse for wear by the time I got her into bed.’

  But Laura was shaking her head. ‘Well, she seems bright as a button this morning. She’s never needed much sleep, has she? She and Cassidy went out for a stroll about an hour ago. They’re going to pick up the papers. I thought we’d have a lazy start, then maybe have a pub lunch somewhere, if that suits you.

  ‘Oh, I hope Cass didn’t disturb you when he came in last night. He was supposed to stay with a friend.’

  Fay lay in the bath, wondering why she hadn’t said anything to Laura about bumping into Cassidy. The thought of Isabel swanning around the streets of Nottingham with him, laughing, chatting – flirting even – was irritating, but their absence gave her a chance to wash and dry her hair and take time over her makeup. A half an hour later she re-visited the mirror and was satisfied with what she saw.

  ‘That’s a lovely blouse. Green suits you, Fay.’ Laura looked up from the black bag that she was filling with the debris from the swing-bin. Something glutinous from last night’s meal slurped onto the quarry tiles and she scooped it up with her hand, pushing it down in the bag.

  ‘Help yourself to breakfast. Cornflakes. Toast.’ Laura waved in the direction of a couple of cereal boxes and a loaf of bread on the untidy worktop, then hauled the rubbish out of the back door. A dustbin lid clanged. Fay could count, on the fingers of one hand, the times that she had put the rubbish in the dustbin. She was perfectly capable of doing so if she wanted to, or if she had to, but rubbish was one of Jack’s jobs.

  The rattle of a key in the front door was accompanied by laughing voices. She couldn’t catch what they were saying, but they sounded extremely friendly and she made sure she was sitting at the kitchen table, deeply involved in yesterday’s crossword puzzle, when they came in.

  ‘Morning, lazy bones.’ Isabel could be extremely annoying.

  For a Sunday morning in the provinces, Isabel had selected a simple, yet stunning ensemble. Jeans, beautifully cut, neither too indigo nor too washed out; a white linen shirt; navy leather mules which had obviously been hand-made
in Italy. Her hair, drawn roughly back, tumbled towards her shoulders and her make-up – surely she had to be wearing something on her face – was minimal. Close behind her came Cassidy, laden with newspapers, a smile still lifting the corners of his mouth.

  Fay felt frumpish in her tailored shirt and black slacks. She wished that her hair wasn’t so short; that she hadn’t plastered on all that foundation in an attempt to cover her freckles; that she were six-inches taller. More than anything, she wished she could come up with a cutting reply but Cassidy’s smile had melted her brain.

  ‘You haven’t met Cass yet.’ Laura corrected herself, ‘Not for a while, I mean.’

  Cassidy held out his hand and she, still seated, took it. ‘Hi there.’ His handshake, as she remembered from the night before, was firm, and the skin on the palm of his hand, dry and rough. The hint of a wink twitched his left eyelid, drawing her into a silent conspiracy.

  They sat together, a companionable foursome, flicking through the mound of papers. Fay noticed that Cassidy turned straight to the sports pages, absorbing the details of the test-match and the first football matches of the season. Earlier in the week she had ranted to Jack, at some length, about the way the football season ran from August to May. ‘And if it’s a World Cup year or the European Championship, there’s no break from it at all.’

  Knowing nothing about cricket, she plumped for football. ‘Which team do you support, Cassidy? We seem to be an Arsenal household, for some reason.’

  ‘Don’t tell me it’s Notts Forest. They put up a poor show last year.’ Isabel lowered the Sunday Times to join in. ‘They’ve got to get a better striker. And they could do with a goalkeeper who doesn’t bottle it on the free kicks.’

  ‘You are absolutely right. And I’m extremely impressed.’ Cassidy and Isabel engaged in animated football talk whilst Laura went to make another pot of coffee and Fay fumed.

  The plan was to have lunch in the local pub then Isabel would drive Fay to the station to catch the three-twenty back to Cardiff. ‘It’s on my way to the motorway so it’s no bother.’

  Cassidy put the cases in the boot of Isabel’s car. ‘Are you coming for lunch?’ Fay asked.

  ‘I’d love to but I’ve got a few things to sort out.’

  She felt relieved and disappointed. With no Cassidy there, she would be able to enjoy her meal without competing with Isabel for his attention. ‘Don’t forget. If you ever come to Wales…’

  ‘Funny you should say that. I have to go down to Carmarthen in a couple of weeks. Delivering a table to a customer.’

  They agreed, there and then, that he would schedule his delivery for the Saturday afternoon, and join them for lunch en route. ‘It would be great to see Jack again. And Caitlin, if she’s around.’

  They set off for the pub, Fay elated to have scored a points victory over Isabel.

  Jack placed the carton of eggs and the roses into a plastic carrier bag, tied the top with a double knot and shoved it beneath the other household rubbish in the dustbin. It was a shame but what alternative did he have? Then he changed out of the clothes he’d been wearing all weekend and washed them, along with his unworn dancing shirt and socks. Fay would know something was amiss if he turned up at the station in the same outfit that he’d worn yesterday. He was pegging out when she rang from the train.

  ‘Have a good weekend, love?’ As he held the phone to his ear he had a distinct feeling that she could hear his thoughts, so he kept the conversation short and to the point. ‘See you in half an hour.’

  The station forecourt was snarled with cars depositing and collecting travellers. Many of those heading into the ticket hall were youngsters, tottering under the weight of enormous rucksacks. The automatic doors opened and closed, swallowing or spewing out the overloaded travellers, taking him back to when Caitlin and Dylan were at college, making reluctant and infrequent visits home. They used to arrive on a Friday evening, too late for a family meal but in time to meet friends at the pub. Next morning they slept until midday, dumped a pile of washing next to the machine, watched television then went out for a pizza. On Sunday they got up, knowing that Fay would have washed and ironed everything and prepared a slap-up lunch. A dash for the train and they were gone again.

  Not Kingsley, though. Kingsley just went.

  Log-jammed and unable to leave the car, he peered through the windscreen, wondering whether he would recognise his wife when she emerged, because he had changed in the past twenty-four hours and it was possible that she had, too. But she hadn’t. He watched her, the familiar, determined Fay, stomping towards him, dragging her case around the sweep of the pavement. With each stride, the Llangwm magic seeped away.

  ‘Good visit?’ He gave her a peck on the cheek.

  ‘Lovely. They all sent their love.’

  He didn’t imagine for one minute that they had. ‘How were they?’

  ‘Laura’s soldiering on. And Isabel’s as mad as ever. And guess who else was there? Cassidy.’

  Fay wittered as they crawled out of the city centre, Jack grunting at what he hoped were appropriate intervals, a strategy he’d perfected in order to escape from prosaic small talk and gain thinking time. He was contemplating changing the car, especially since it had let him down yesterday. Gareth had been sure it was a loose lead but perhaps he should pop it into the garage for them to give it a complete overhaul. There was an option to try something a bit sportier now that there were just two of them. He could always use Fay’s car when he needed to take his parents anywhere or if he had to take rubbish to the tip. That roll of carpet and the old push-mower at the back of the garage needed to be disposed of. He would take them next weekend, if the depot was open.

  ‘So is that okay with you?’ Fay paused. ‘Jack?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine, love.’ He had no idea what she was talking about and prayed she would say a bit more and give him a few clues.

  ‘Did I tell you that he’s a carpenter now? Well, more of a cabinetmaker by the sound of it. I expect he’s inherited Laura’s practical skills. David was rather on the arty side, if I remember.’

  Cassidy. Something to do with Cassidy Ford.

  ‘It would only be for a bite of lunch. He doesn’t want us to go to any trouble.’

  ‘That’ll be nice.’ Over the years he had become adept at this dangerous game.

  It wasn’t until they were sitting down to supper that Fay asked, ‘How did it go?’ She always referred to his hobby as ‘it’, as though she couldn’t bear to use the words ‘Morris’ or ‘dancing’.

  ‘It?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘Yesterday?’

  ‘Stop it, Jack.’

  He stopped it. ‘Oh, you mean the competition. Fine. We didn’t get anywhere but it was a good outing.’ All of which was totally accurate. The Wicker Men hadn’t got anywhere – they’d stayed at home. And he’d had a delightful outing to Llangwm. How easy it was to dissemble. Then, without really knowing where the idea came from, he found himself saying, ‘Did I mention that I’ve been invited to speak at the conference in a couple of weeks?’ He experienced a slight pang of guilt as a shadow of confusion crossed her face. ‘You haven’t forgotten the conference? I told you all about it just before the wedding.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  He’d counted on her refusal to admit that she could forget anything and he pushed his advantage. ‘Yes. One of the keynote speakers has dropped out at the last minute – dropped dead actually.’ He was enjoying himself now. ‘So, as I’m reasonably local, the secretary asked me if I could step in.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ She paused. ‘But what will you speak about?’

  ‘I thought I might talk about that study I did on dental caries rates in Valley communities.’ Now came the moment where it could all fall apart. ‘You’re more than welcome to come along, love.’ He held his breath.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Llandrindod.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Weekend after next.’ P
lease, God, just this one small favour.

  She appeared to be making some complicated mental reckoning, squinting and pursing her lips. She shook her head. ‘What a shame. Can you believe it, that’s the very weekend that I’ve invited Cassidy to call? I suppose I could put him off …’

  Jack crossed his fingers and held his breath.

  ‘… but it would be rather rude.’

  ‘Never mind, love. A weekend with a load of dentists isn’t much of a treat. Maybe we could get away, just the two of us, sometime soon.’

  ‘Well, as long as you don’t mind going on your own.’

  They cleared away the supper things and, whilst Fay was upstairs making a phone call, he pencilled ‘Dental Conference. Llandrindod’ on the calendar that hung in the kitchen. As an afterthought he scrawled ‘Conference. 16/17 Aug.’ on a scrap of paper and pinned it on the corkboard near the phone, half concealed by the sheet detailing Bank Holiday refuse collections. It looked as though it been there for weeks.

  He pottered through the evening, marvelling at God’s beneficence.

  6

  ‘You’re looking horribly bright for a Monday morning.’ Sheila Pearce glanced up from the crossword and shoved a pencil into the strange little twist of hair on the back of her head. ‘And you’re twenty minutes early.’

  ‘Is that any way to speak to your boss?’ Jack opened the cupboard in the corner of the waiting room and removed a pale-blue smock.

  ‘You’ve put up with it for twenty-odd years, Jack, so I’ve had to assume that you like abuse. Come here.’ She helped him fasten the tunic, pulling it down at the back, brushing out imaginary creases with the flat of her hand. ‘There. Ready for the fray.’