by Jo Verity
Angel grimaced. ‘What’s with the sergeant major routine, Dad?’
‘I’ve been far too soft with you two.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘You’re up for this aren’t you, Jay? You’re not a wimp like these two.’ He pointed at his daughters.
Jordan turned to Elizabeth for guidance. She raised ten fingers, surreptitiously.
‘Okay,’ he mumbled.
‘Good lad.’ Dafydd checked his watch. ‘We’ll leave in fifteen minutes.’
25
FRIDAY: 11.30AM
They headed down the hill towards the beach. Dafydd and Angel led the cohort, with Mimi and Jordan following. Elizabeth and Diane brought up the rear.
‘You look a bit the worse for wear,’ Elizabeth murmured. ‘Did you get any sleep at all last night?’
It was risky to raise the topic of ‘last night’, but it was also thrilling, like dangling a morsel of mouse before a sleeping cat. If Diane suspected anything, this was surely when the vulgar digs would come.
Instead she yawned. ‘Less than you did by the sound of it. You’re disgustingly chirpy.’
‘Who wouldn’t be, on a day like today?’
They left the road, taking a well-trodden footpath which veered off across rough ground before it zigzagged up the steep escarpment towards the high point of the ridge that backed the great sweep of the bay.
They scrambled up in single file, Elizabeth glad to be last with no one hassling her to get a move on. She paused frequently, pretending to look at the view, needing to catch her breath and gulp from the bottle of water that Dafydd had insisted carrying in his decrepit rucksack. It was a punishing climb and, long before she reached the top, her head was throbbing, her thigh muscles aching. She prided herself that she was fit – swimming twice a week, and Pilates whenever she could make the class – but she wondered whether she was up to this. It was more challenging than Dafydd had implied and she was surprised that he hadn’t advised them to wear something more substantial on their feet than sandals.
Jordan was first to the top, powering effortlessly up the precarious path. She wouldn’t have put him down as an athlete but Mimi’s presence was, no doubt, a spur. He waited impatiently, looking down at them, the wind tugging his hair away from his scalp and pressing his T-shirt to his skinny chest. Low hairline, narrow face, big ears. Tall but puny. It was difficult to see how this plain boy could blossom into a good-looking man but the girls had taken to him straight away so there must be something about him.
‘That’s the tough bit done,’ Dafydd said as, panting, they assembled on the ridge. ‘It’s a doddle from here.’
The footpath meandered south – a broad, well-worn track undulating across scruffy moorland. To the right, the hillside slipped away in a giddying descent. Near the bottom it levelled out into a wide plateau, criss-crossed with stone walls and dotted with grazing sheep, as if needing to catch its breath before dropping the last few metres to the beach. The tide was receding, exposing a broadening reach of sand dappled with expanses of wetness that reflected the sky in great shimmering patches. Frothing waves tumbled one after the other along the entire length of the bay, from the rocky peninsula to the south to the small island that marked its northern extremity.
Elizabeth had forgotten her sunglasses and the wind blurred her vision. At first glance the beach below was deserted but, having wiped away her tears, she was able to make out tiny figures grouped in colourful encampments or scampering around on the sand. Looking back, she could see the sprawl of grassy dunes and the tented campsite nestling behind them, but the road down from the village to the beach was invisible, hidden in a fold of the land.
The sun spilled a slick of molten gold across the sea. The air was pierced with the shriek of gulls and spiced with bracken and seaweed. Insects buzzed and hovered above the heather. Butterflies fluttered erratically from ling to gorse to yellow hawkweed. Lilliputian figures down below dissolved again as, breeze on her face, her eyes welled. It was perfectly possible to imagine the earth without human beings. The planet soon would be, if Vashti Fry’s prediction was accurate. And it might be all the better for it. In fact Elizabeth sometimes thought it was a mystery why God – any variety of God – had bothered with mankind in the first place.
They carried on, passing other ramblers heading in the opposite direction, occasionally being overtaken by pukka hikers who yomped along, kitted out with serious equipment and resolute intent. It was evidently – and understandably – a popular walk on a beautiful day like this. Everyone they met, extended a hearty greeting – ‘Hi there’, ‘Morning’, ‘Lovely day’ – forging them, if transiently, into a strolling band of brothers.
Pausing to identify a white, star-shaped flower, the two women fell a little way behind the others.
‘You’re looking great, by the way,’ Diane said as they crouched side-by-side. ‘It’s high time you ditched the memsahib look.’
Elizabeth poked out her tongue. ‘That’s not a very friendly thing to say.’
‘But it’s true.’
She was used to Diane’s criticism. Once in a while she retaliated, picking on her friend’s fondness for garish colours and her inclination to wear clothes more appropriate to teenagers than mature women. But it was too nice a day to squabble.
After the taxing ascent, the walk along the ridge was, as Dafydd had promised, undemanding. Elizabeth was, however, surprised to find that the area was peppered with archaeological features. Dafydd was an enthusiastic and informative guide, pointing out the ruins of a World War II radar station and an abundance of Bronze Age burial mounds and cairns.
‘I could be walking in the footsteps of prehistoric man,’ Diane said, plodding dramatically along the path.
‘They chose a pretty amazing place to live,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I suppose there are certain locations that will always attract human beings.
‘I find it reassuring.’ Dafydd said. ‘Chastening, too.’
‘How?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Knowing that the same sights and sounds touched their souls as touch ours today. It’s comforting to be part of a continuum.’
‘And why chastening?’
‘For the same reason. There’s nothing special about us. We’re no more than links in a chain, here simply to produce the next lot before we join our forefathers beneath the sod.’
Diane laughed. ‘Best not let your daughters know that they’re “simply here to produce the next lot”. You weren’t so keen on that idea the other night, if I remember rightly.’
‘I don’t think I need worry too much on that score. Not at the moment, anyway,’ Dafydd said, pointing ahead.
Jordan and the girls were way in front of them, walking three abreast. Suddenly, as if an invisible starter had fired his pistol, they began running. Just as abruptly, they dropped to the ground, lying still for several seconds before getting up and doing it all over again.
‘I need a pee,’ Dafydd said. ‘I’ll catch you up.’ He slipped away towards an outcrop of rocks.
‘I’m glad we came, aren’t you?’ Diane said. ‘Being in a fresh place helps get things in perspective, don’t you think?’
Elizabeth’s conscience tugged. Clearly she’d been invited – summoned – to Wales to hear about Marin Vexler; to lend Diane support. But, since their conversation outside the castle, she’d given the matter little thought. To be truthful, they’d spent hardly any time together since leaving Cardiff. It almost seemed that Diane was avoiding her – the car ride to Llangennith, the night in the tent, sketching on the beach. Of course she’d asked her to come to the café yesterday afternoon, but then Lenny and Joe had turned up and put an end to any opportunity for serious conversation.
It was idyllic up here, ambling along between sea and sky, pausing to watch a finch on a thistle head or a yacht skimming across the waves. She could think of nothing that she wanted less than to discuss the mess that Diane was in. But…
‘Might it be worth contacting the Romanian Embassy? Try and find out w
here Marin is? They may have a database … or something like that.’ Elizabeth was pleased with her spontaneous suggestion and felt inspired to plough on. ‘And I’d be happy to ask Laurence what your legal situation is. If you’d rather he didn’t know it was you, I could always say—’
Diane raised her hand. ‘Thanks, Lizzie. The important thing as far as I’m concerned is that you know what happened. If Marin wants to find me he will, and if he doesn’t I can simply forget him.’
‘Have you decided what you’re going to do about Carl?’
Diane’s face crumpled in mock pain. ‘No. And I think that’s telling me something, don’t you? If you love a man enough to stick with him forever, you shouldn’t have to agonise over it, should you? You should know,’ she pressed her midriff, ‘in here. Until I met Carl, I always made up my mind about men,’ she clicked her fingers, ‘like that.’
‘Decide what though? Whether to have a drink with them? Whether to go to bed with them?’
‘Well, if you need an example, it took me less than ten seconds to accept Marin’s proposal.’
‘From what you’ve told me, that decision wasn’t made with a view to becoming Darby and Joan.’
‘Is that what I’d be signing up for with Carl? Darby and Joan-ism?’ Diane puffed out her cheeks and exhaled noisily. ‘I’m going right off the idea.’ She slapped at an orange insect that was attacking her arm. ‘It would be much easier if we could see in to the future, don’t you agree, Lizzie?’
‘No. And neither do you. You get off on uncertainty.’
Diane laughed. ‘You’re dead right, as usual.’
Dafydd caught up with them. ‘Look.’ He held the skull of a small animal on his outstretched palm. ‘It’s a rabbit. Alas poor Bugs.’
Not much bigger than a duck’s egg, its ovoid form and the manner in which the prominent incisors met, made it look more like the head of a large bird than a small mammal.
‘Incredible the difference a fur coat makes,’ Diane said. ‘To an animal or a woman.’
‘Hey, kids, come and see this,’ he shouted.
They gathered around, passing the bleached skull from one to another, marvelling at the intricacies of the fused bones.
When Jordan’s turn came he held the thing close to his face. ‘We’ll all end up like this, sooner or later.’
‘Thanks, Mister Cheerful.’ Mimi flicked his arm with the back of her hand.
He tossed the skull towards her face. ‘Catch.’
It fell to the ground, abandoned as Mimi caught Jordan’s wrist, forcing his arm behind his back in a rudimentary, and obviously painless, half-nelson. They fell giggling on the path.
‘So what were you two nattering about back there?’ Dafydd asked.
‘You, of course,’ Diane said.
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Take no notice of her. She’s a troublemaker. We were discussing whether we’d like to see into the future.’
‘And?’
‘It would be appalling. It would destroy every ounce of hope.’
Mimi released her hold on Jordan and jumped up. ‘It’d be brilliant.’
‘D’you think so?’ Elizabeth said.
‘Yeah. For starters you could find out the winning lottery numbers for next week and pick those.’
‘It wouldn’t work, cariad,’ Dafydd said patiently.
Mimi looked perplexed, her accent becoming more pronounced as her agitation increased. ‘Don’t see why not.’
‘Seeing into the future wouldn’t mean that you could manipulate events. You might find out what the winning numbers were going to be, but you’d also find out who was going to win. It might be Mimi Jones but that would only be if you were going to win it anyway.’
Mimi scowled. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Duhhh.’ Angel pointed her index fingers at her temples. ‘You didn’t,’ she fingered quotation marks in the air, ‘“get” Back to the Future either, did you?’
The trace of a smile lifted the corners of Jordan’s mouth. ‘Great movie.’
Angel wasn’t finished. ‘Anyway, everyone would pick the same numbers. So the jackpot would be split between—’
‘Let’s forget the lottery, shall we?’ Dafydd said. ‘I can predict one thing, though. We’ll soon be eating a very tasty meal.’
Despite being at loggerheads seconds before, Angel and Mimi united to challenge him.
‘You don’t know that for sure.’
‘They might have run out of food.’
‘We might fall off the cliff.’
‘A meteorite could crash into the earth.’
Ahead the footpath rose markedly, a tapering white pillar standing where it crested the ground. Several people were clustered around it.
Pointing towards it Dafydd said, ‘First to the Beacon gets a prize.’
The youngsters set off running, Diane in pursuit, leaving Dafydd and Elizabeth alone for the first time since leaving the house.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘It’s a trig point. It marks?’
‘No. The prize. What’s the prize?’
‘Depends who wins.’
‘We weren’t talking about you back there,’ she said. ‘Honestly.’
‘I know,’ he said, catching her hand fleetingly. ‘What’s to talk about anyway?’ He nodded towards the racing figures. ‘Look at ’em go. Jordan’s miles ahead.’
‘Silly boy. He should let Mimi win. Women don’t like their men to be too macho.’
‘Is that right?’
‘On the whole, we don’t find ruthless determination particularly attractive.’
‘You’re telling me women prefer losers?’
‘I didn’t say that. It’s more that we prefer men who don’t mind not winning.’
‘Excellent news. The Welsh are dab hands at not winning – rugby aside, of course. We cry a lot, too. That’s only the men, mind you. The women are as hard as nails.’
‘What makes you cry?’ she asked.
‘Me? Orphaned puppies. Onions. The national anthem. That’s the Welsh national anthem, naturally.’
She loved these ridiculous exchanges. They made her feel … light. Light-headed and light-hearted. And interesting.
In her London life, she was surrounded by ‘interesting’ people. Work colleagues. Neighbours. Clever friends. Witty people, people who had fascinating jobs or who came from exotic backgrounds, people who only had to set foot out of the door for something intriguing to happen to them. She wasn’t dull exactly – she could keep up her end pretty well on books, politics, music, films – but being amongst this incessant stream of compelling characters was inhibiting. When she was in their company it was as if she couldn’t get going, as if she were suffering ‘interest block’. But now Dafydd Jones had come along with his easy manner and nothingy banter and … unblocked her.
The ground around the trig point was a mass of outcropping rocks, worn shiny by the thousands of feet that had been drawn to it.
‘We are,’ Angel peered at the metal plate that topped the landmark, ‘one hundred and ninety-three metres above sea level.’
‘What’s that in feet?’ Diane asked. ‘Metres never sound impressive.’
‘Six hundred and twenty-seven,’ Jordan’s reply came straight back.
‘Wow. The boy’s a genius,’ Diane said.
Angel rolled her eyes. ‘Not really. It’s written here, on the thingy.’
‘This has to be the most stunning view in Britain.’ Dafydd swung around in a full circle, arms outstretched, as though they might not have noticed the beauty that surrounded them. ‘Worms Head. The Devon coastline. Lundy Island. Pembrokeshire.’
‘Boring, boring,’ Mimi groaned, ‘I don’t get views. They don’t do anything. They don’t mean anything. They’re just there.’
‘You have to be old,’ Jordan murmured.
As a child, Elizabeth had felt the same. They’d be ‘out for a run’ in the car and her father would stop in what seemed to her to be a random spot t
hen her parents would witter on about a few hills or corn fields or a distant spire. If not ‘old’, she was older than Jordan when a view first took her breath away – Venice seen across the lagoon.
Inland, the terrain fell away in a shallow slope and within a few hundred yards the moor gave way to rolling farmland. In several places the ground rose in gentle hillocks and the vista was dotted with grazing sheep.
Dafydd indicated a solitary farmhouse in the middle distance. ‘See that house? That’s where Lenny Butler lives.’
Jordan, who had been aimlessly kicking at a clump of heather, stopped and looked up. ‘Who?’
‘Lenny Butler lives over there.’
‘Wolfman?’
‘Yes. You’ve heard of him?’
‘Man.’ Jordan shook his head and stared at the house.
Whilst they’d been discussing views and heights above sea level, Mimi had maintained a tragic, bored expression, but now she perked up. ‘Lenny’s a friend of ours, isn’t he, Dad? He’s always coming over to Gran’s.’
Jordan continued to gaze at the house as if, by taking his eyes off it, he might miss something.
‘D’you want to meet him?’ Mimi asked. ‘We can fix that, can’t we Dad?’ She linked arms with her father reinforcing her connection with the celebrated Butler.
‘As a matter of fact, he rang just before we left the house,’ Dafydd said. ‘He wants us to go over there. I promised I’d get back to him when I knew what our plans were.’
Jordan turned towards Dafydd, wide-eyed. ‘That’d be so cool…’
‘Sounds fun,’ Diane said.
‘It won’t be,’ Angel said. ‘He’s very boring. And very old. He gives me the creeps.’
Dafydd looked questioningly at Elizabeth. What d’you think? She smiled, shifting the decision back to him, lifting her shoulders slightly. I’m easy.
‘Okay. Why not?’ He took out his phone.
Elizabeth watched as he meandered away from them, phone to his ear. She wondered whether he would have passed on Lenny’s invitation had Jordan not been so impressed by the mention of his name. It would have been cruel to deny the boy a chance to meet an idol but it meant sharing the evening with a potential (or so Dafydd seemed to think) rival for her attention.