Thicker Than Water

by Bethan Darwin

  “I just know you can. Just like I know that it’s Tommy not me that can’t make babies. I can feel it.”

  She lifts one of his hands to her lips, kisses his fingers gently. She knows he will kiss her. She knows how hard it has been for him not to kiss her every day since she chose Tommy. She knows this because at times it has been every bit as hard for her not to kiss him.

  Idris sighs and sinks to his knees next to her, pulls her towards him and holds her tight.

  *

  His last weeks in Wales go past in a blur. Gwen is close to tears a lot of the time but desperately trying to hide it. The only thing that seems to calm her is if Idris stands next to her in the garden and just lets her talk about what she plants where and when and what care everything needs. He makes Gwen a lot of tea and he lets her talk of seeds and pricking out and the importance of manure. Her words wash over him in a sea of tannin and tears.

  His father acts as if Idris is not going anywhere; will not actually see his plans through. He will only talk about the upcoming Catty and Doggy tournament that is to be played on the Oval in Tonypandy, a few days before Idris is due to leave. The game, popular with children and played in the streets, involves a team of four to six men hitting a short stick called the Catty into the air and then hitting it again as far as possible with a longer stick, usually fashioned from a pick axe handle, called the Doggy. The distance the Catty travels is measured, with each length of the Doggy counting as a run. Like cricket, if the Catty is caught the player is out. The Maddox men are all very good at the game and will play for the same team.

  “I don’t know, Dada,” Idris says, “maybe with me leaving so soon afterwards, it would be better if I didn’t play, and let someone else take my place.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense, son. Why would you want to let us all down like that?”

  On the day of the tournament, Idris is surprised to see just how many have turned out to watch. Always well attended, even more men have turned out to watch the tournament than usual, to relieve the boredom of the General Strike. Rows of men, all dressed very similarly in the uniform of miners when not at work – dark trousers, dark waistcoats, white shirts and caps – lining the sides of the ground and all along the fences.

  Dada, the oldest player in their team, plays like he is fighting in a contest far more important than a game of Catty and Doggy. Idris thinks he has never seen him hit the Catty so hard or field so energetically, catching half a dozen men out with no regard to the sting in the palms caused by a piece of wood travelling at speed. Their team win the tournament easily.

  There is no trophy to win but Idris and Tommy and the other men in their team hoist Dada on to their shoulders to accept the applause. They walk home grinning, three abreast, striding up the hill with purpose, in the same way they used to walk home from the pit together at the end of a shift. Without taking his eyes off the road ahead, Dada asks quietly, “Why would you want to leave us all behind, Idris?”

  Idris doesn’t answer.

  Idris shows Tommy how to set the rabbit traps, where to place them so as to get the best results, how to skin the rabbits ready for Gwen to cook. Tommy listens, even takes notes, but Idris suspects Tommy will never actually set a trap once he has gone.

  Every late afternoon is spent with Maggie. Neither of them offers Tommy an explanation for these absences and he does not ask for one. Some of the time they just sit together, leaning against the other, looking out over the valley, watching summer turn gently towards the arms of early autumn. Some of the time they talk – about things they did when they were children, about the strike that is collapsing fast, about what Idris can expect to find when he arrives in Canada. But most of the time they spend trying to make a baby.

  Chapter 5

  Back at the office, Gareth finds it difficult to concentrate on his work. He blames it on the onion rings that came as a side with his steak at lunch. He knew they would give him indigestion but he ate them anyway.

  At 4.30pm he decides to call it a day and to drive over to the squash club early. Calling it a squash club makes the place sound grand and exclusive, when actually it is four scruffy, smelly courts and an equally scruffy, smelly bar presided over by a stewardess called Valmai with dyed orange hair who serves good clean beer and makes a mean corned beef and pickled onion sandwich. Despite this, the club is very popular with professionals and Gareth has landed a lot of work through his squash ladder.

  He rings Adrian Matthews from the car on the way over.

  “I’ve finished work a bit early. Wondering if you fancied knocking a few balls around the court before the matches later. I could do with a warm up.”

  “That’s a coincidence! I’m just walking through the door. Valmai’s waving at me, making her beer eyes. See you when you get here.”

  The club is where Gareth had first met Adrian, not long after he and Rachel arrived from London. Adrian had come to Cardiff to go to University and although he had vague plans to move to London for work they had somehow never materialised. He and Gareth had found they were a good match in terms of skill on the squash court – competent, competitive, often having to cancel games due to work commitments. From playing squash they’d evolved to drinking Valmai’s beer together. By now, Gareth counts Adrian as a good friend and Adrian has put a lot of work Gareth’s way over the years.

  Gareth changes into his kit and finds Adrian waiting for him in the furthest court, doing stretches.

  “Gareth! My main man. Do you just want a knock about or do you fancy a quick match, let me batter you again like I did last week?”

  “You did not batter me Adrian, you won. Only just. I haven’t got time for a proper match, I’m playing Nathan Bayliss in half an hour and he’s top of the league right now.”

  “Knock about it is. Hey, what did you think of that Cassandra Taylor?”

  “I thought she was a very focussed, very driven woman.”

  “Wasn’t she just! I fancy the arse off of her. I’ve already emailed her, made up some story about being in London on business next week and inviting her to dinner to discuss the deal.”

  Gareth is flooded with hot, irrational jealousy. “Oh yeah, what did she say?”

  “Hasn’t replied yet.”

  “How do you know she doesn’t have a husband or boyfriend?”

  “Didn’t see any ring. And no mention of a fella which is what most women do when I turn on the full beams and they want to let me know politely they are not available. Anyway, she lives in Canada. Who cares if she has a husband or boyfriend, so long as he’s not over here with her.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit unprofessional?”

  “It’s all right for you. You’re happily married to someone you still fancy after hundreds of years of marriage. Me, I’m still looking and it’s not often a woman that hot crosses my path.”

  “She’s a hot client not just a hot woman.”

  “So you agree with me she’s hot then?”

  Gareth frowns. “You know exactly what I mean Matthews. She’s a client, an important one, not some bird you picked up on Beaujolais Nouveau Day.”

  “Get over yourself Gazza. It’s not as if I’ve invited her to join me for a bit of bondage in a dungeon party. I’ve said I’m in London anyway and would she care to join me for dinner, that’s all. If she doesn’t want to, she’ll just say she’s not available and we can both pretend it was a serious business invitation and carry on working on the deal together. No blood, no foul. If she says yes, I’ll assess the situation and analyse the risk at the time. Hey do you think she’s as bossy in bed as she is when it comes to business? Maybe she’ll be the one suggesting a bit of bondage.”

  “Shut up Adrian and just play squash, will you?”

  “I thought you only wanted a knock about?”

  “Changed my mind, first to fifteen points wins. My serve.” Gareth hits the ball so hard, Adrian has no chance of returning it.

  *

  Rachel sits at her desk, panicking a
little. She has had the kind of day where she has not had time to pee, let alone eat lunch. She is working on a deal that is due to complete tomorrow. It is not the biggest of deals nor the most sexy. Her client, Cole Lapthorne Engineering, is selling its fabricating and welding business to another fabricating and welding business in Cardiff. The difference between fabricators and welders has been explained to her more than once but she appears incapable of retaining this information. They both involve metal, that much she does know.

  She has spent much of the day sitting in an overheated office suspended above a workshop. The office had MDF wooden cladded walls and was decorated with framed rugby shirts. Its end wall had open windows overlooking the workshop so that Mr Cole and Mr Lapthorne could keep an eye on the men in navy blue overalls below, bashing things loudly with spanners and listening to Planet Rock at full volume. The din meant that explaining to Mr Cole and Mr Lapthorne about warranties and indemnities in a sale agreement was even more difficult.

  “Why do we have to have all this blessed paperwork?” Mr Cole had complained bitterly. In the old days we’d have done it on a handshake and everyone would have been happy and there would be no enormous lawyer’s bills to pay.” Mr Cole drives a Jaguar XJS and has a huge house overlooking Roath Lake but the very idea of lawyers making money makes him evil.

  Mr Lapthorne had tried to help him understand. “People just don’t do business like that anymore Morgan. We need this paperwork. All Rachel is trying to do is protect us.”

  “Fleece us, more like, Bruce. Fleece us is what she’s doing.”

  Rachel is used to getting hassle from the other side on deals but getting it from your own client is a tough one. Made tougher by the fact that at the same time as being rude about her, and not really listening as she explained the terms of the agreement she had worked hard on drafting so as to protect his interests, Mr Cole also managed to spend a lot of time staring openly at Rachel’s legs.

  The meeting had taken far longer than it should have and now it has gone 5pm already and Rachel has a phone call to return, which will take a good twenty minutes, and three emails she needs to get out which will take longer. But Karen’s shift ends at 6pm and whilst Karen is a great nanny she takes great exception at working so much as five minutes beyond her allotted hours. It will take at least thirty minutes for Rachel to get home at this time of the day. There is nothing in the house for dinner and Iris got some new badges at Scouts last week which Rachel has been meaning to sew on her uniform but somehow she has not done it and now all of a sudden it’s Scouts again tonight.

  It wouldn’t be so bad if this low point, or another just like it, didn’t roll round pretty much every day. Too much to do and not enough time to do it in.

  Rachel drops her head into her hands, breathes deeply for a moment or two like she was taught at yoga the three times in her life she ever managed to actually make it to a yoga class, and prioritises her list. Then she leaves the office.

  She makes the phone call from the car driving home. She manages to bring the call to an end just as she pulls up outside the Spar. She buys sausages – pale pink, flabby fingers, neither organic nor free range but the kids will love them – a bag of pasta, some tins of tomatoes, onions and a bag of frozen broccoli which they won’t love but will at least be one of their five a day. And a bottle of Oxford Landing Sauvignon Blanc, a very long way from being her favourite Sauvignon Blanc but nevertheless still wine.

  She figures she can sew the badges on while the sausage pasta is cooking and that she’ll send the emails later that night after Jake and Nora are in bed. With a glass of Sauvignon at her elbow.

  She arrives home at 6pm precisely but it is not a clock watching Karen she finds sitting in her kitchen but her friend Jenny, whose son Daniel is in the same class as Nora at school. Jake is sat in his high chair and Jenny is feeding him yoghurt. Or more precisely letting Jake feed himself which means that most of the yoghurt is outside Jake not inside him.

  “What’s happened? Is something wrong? Are the girls OK?”

  “Keep your hair on lawyer lady. Nothing’s happened. Nora asked if Daniel could come round for his tea after school. I arrived five minutes ago to collect him. Karen asked me if I could watch Jake till you got home so she could get off a bit early and I said fine.”

  Rachel’s shoulders descend from where they had shot up around her ears in fear.

  “Thank goodness for that. Now excuse me I need to go to the loo. Not been all day today.”

  When she emerges from the small toilet next to the kitchen, Jenny is laughing to herself.

  “You pissed like a horse then Rachel. It’s not healthy keeping that in all day.”

  Rachel blushes a little. “I had a busy day.”

  “You have a busy day every day. Is that a bottle of wine you’ve got in that bag?

  “Yes, do you want some? It’s not very cold.”

  “Crack it open girl. You must have one of those icy straitjacket things for bottles in the freezer somewhere. Or some ice cubes?” Jenny is already reaching in the cupboard for a couple of wine glasses.

  “OK, but I’ll just have a small one. I’ve got to sew on some Scout badges, then make tea, then send some emails.”

  Jenny laughs. “Why do you bother, Rachel, with this mummy career juggle thing you do. Really? It’s beyond me. You’re run ragged looking after all these kids that you chose to have, doing this big job you chose to have. Why do you live at such a fast pace? You should embrace the slow movement like I do – slow walking, slow food, slow job.”

  Jenny’s not kidding about the slow movement. She really does live life in slo-mo. Daniel is her only child and she has a part-time job in the local library, three days a week till 3pm. She didn’t really want either of these things but her husband Alastair insisted. Jenny’s delighted that Alastair insisted on a child, although continues to be grumpy about the part-time job.

  Rachel has located the icy coat thing for wine bottles in the back of the freezer. She hands it to Jenny together with a half-full tray of ice cubes. Jenny slides it over the wine bottle, pops a couple of ice cubes into each glass, then without waiting opens the wine.

  “I do enjoy a twist cap, don’t you? There you go,” she says, handing a glass to Rachel. “Get your chops round that.”

  Rachel takes a sip. “I do the mummy career juggle thing, Jenny, because I enjoy my job and I’m good at it – and I love my family,” she says frostily. “It’s not too much to ask to do both is it?”

  “It’s way too much to ask of me. You know how I am Rachel. I don’t want a big job like you. I just want to hang around the house in my pyjamas reading and listening to the radio, bake cakes for when Daniel gets home from school. Go for a slow walk on the beach at the weekend. I don’t understand why you and everyone else are in such a rush all the time. Like they want to get through life as fast as they can. What exactly are you people expecting to find on the other side? Is there some sort of league table? Someone at the Pearly Gates keeping count of who rushed around the most? But hey – to each their own. “

  Jenny is ordinarily the antidote to Rachel’s frenetic pace of life. Short and plump Jenny has a stillness about her that Rachel finds soothing. She admires Jenny’s calm dedication to doing exactly what Jenny wants to do and nothing else and not feeling in the slightest bit bad about that. After Daniel has gone to school, if Jenny is not working, she will spend her mornings sitting in an armchair in her kitchen reading a book. She doesn’t worry about the dishes in the sink or the fact that it might get sunny later so best put a wash on now. She’ll get round to those things eventually – or maybe she won’t – but for now she’ll enjoy the moment and nothing is going to hurry her.

  Usually, Rachel finds Jenny’s approach to life refreshing but this evening her dig at Rachel’s choices in life have annoyed her. “You think your focus on doing very little is worthy, Jenny, like you’re the Dalai Lama and have found some higher pursuit in life. Truth is you’re just plain idle. It’s a
miracle you keep your job when you spend most of your working day reading.”

  “It’s a library! Libraries are all about reading. They can’t sack me for doing my job. Anyway, I wouldn’t care if I did get sacked. I don’t want the bloomin’ job anyway. I only do it because Alastair makes me. It’s not as if we need the money. He says he makes me do the job because if I didn’t have to get up in the morning to go to work, I’d never leave the house, just lie around taking root, with books sprouting up in great piles around me until there is no room left for Daniel or him. And he’s right Rachel and so are you. I am plain idle. What I don’t understand is why other people don’t want to be plain idle too. More wine?”

  “I have to sew Iris’ Scout badges on ready for Scouts tonight and then send some emails.”

  “Do you haveto? Do you really? Does Iris care if her Scout badges don’t get sewn on for another week?”

  Rachel stops to think. “No she doesn’t. It’s me that wants to sew them on for her. Because I said I would.”

  “But will Iris notice if you don’t sew them on?’

  “No.”

  “And these emails you’ve got to send. Are the people you are sending them to sitting at their desks right now, waiting for your emails? Their entire lives on hold until they hear from you?”

  “Er, no.”

  “So you could send them tomorrow?”

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  “So here’s the deal Rachel. We’re going to spring matey boy here from his high chair prison, maybe wipe him down a bit with a flannel first, and we are all going to go sit in the garden together. Nora and Daniel have already gone feral out there, digging in the dirt, but I won’t tell Social Services if you don’t. We’re going to finish this bottle of wine together and put those disgusting looking sausages you’ve bought on your state of the art gas barbecue to keep the kids going. You’ll text your husband and tell him to pick up a couple of pizzas and some more wine on the way home and I’ll get Alastair to do the same. Then we’ll all get a bit pissed on a school night but not so pissed you can’t do your emails in the morning. You can tell that overdeveloped conscience of yours that it’s all my fault for leading you astray. Agreed?”