Cold Enough to Freeze Cows

by Lorraine Jenkin

“Well, if you’re certain. Let me chuck him in your truck for you.”

  Iestyn remembered being poured into the back of a truck and having a shoe and a wallet thrown in after him. And then a pair of rabbit ears and some Y-fronts (which he kept, shame to waste a good working pair). He remembered a bloke’s voice shouting for the truck owner to just throw him out if he misbehaved as drunks tend to have a homing device and that this one was too big to get hypothermia easily.

  He heard a woman’s voice shouting her thanks and for the other bloke not to worry, as she would be fine. He then remembered a gentle and kindly voice checking that he was OK, then a rougher version shoving him across the seat and telling him to move over, you fat twat, as she dragged a seat belt around him, then the kindness returned as a sweet-smelling coat was draped over him.

  He didn’t remember being sick over the coat, or over the whole of the back seat. He didn’t remember his parents being woken by the crashing about and then his father calling him a drunken prick and dumping him on the sofa.

  He sort of remembered a shadow standing over him, looking down at him and laughing gently as she called him a right state. And then doors slammed and he was thrust back into darkness and left to fend for himself until the morning.

  He woke with a bucket that his mother must have put next to him, but obviously not in the right place as the spatter of sick on the floor was presumably his as well.

  CHAPTER 8

  Fel iâr yn crafu – like a hen scratching (not getting anywhere)

  Diane Dawson was standing by her front door on the morning of New Year’s Eve. She had her coat over her arm and a bag containing her mid-morning Kit Kat and her tuna sandwich lunch lay at her feet. Where was he? David Harrison had been giving her a lift every Tuesday and Thursday for the past eight years. Probably for ninety-eight per cent of those times, he’d arrived at between 8.21 and 8.24 a.m. Therefore 8.20 was early and 8.26 was late. What reason could there be for him being nearly eight minutes late?

  Diane worked in the office of the paint and building supplies factory where David was the foreman of Team One. He had an old-fashioned courtesy that Diane adored. Those four rides back and forth to the office were the highlights of her week. Although they rarely progressed beyond the weather and things that their families had been doing, Diane treasured the attention and the gentle pleasure that sitting next to David’s overpowering aftershave in the morning and his souring shirts late afternoon gave her.

  Her feelings for him could never be described as an attraction; they were more of a mutual ability to pretend at fancying someone who pretended to fancy one back. Neither seemed to want to even consider taking it further, and no kind of affair should ever be staked on discussions about fog. Their respective partners may treat them with disdain and bored familiarity, but their eight-minute drives, plus walks to and from the car park allowed them to be the people they still hoped that they were. Diane was still light-hearted and cheerful, instead of a miserable witch who watched soaps all evening accompanied by a microwaved supper, whilst her husband, Harry, played chess on the computer in the study with a plate of toasted sandwiches at his side.

  David, however, was gallant and thoughtful and opened the door for Diane. Of course, he may do the same for Esther, but Diane had an inkling that he may not…

  She peeped out again and this time the Mondeo was coming around the corner. Diane checked her hair in the mirror, licked her lips for that glistening first smile and set off down her drive just as he avoided clipping the kerb with his immaculate alloys.

  “Sorry, Diane, sorry, my dear,” he said as he ran round the car to open her door. “I’ve just had one of those mornings.”

  Diane assured him that it was no problem as she settled back into the seat and clicked on the belt. “So, what are the plans for tonight? Where’ll you be seeing in the new year?” she began, but then she looked across at him. He looked tired and drawn and had a shaving nick on his cheek. “We thought we might go… David, are you all right? I don’t mean to be personal, but you look a little, well, a little, er…”

  “I’m fine; just a little insomnia last night. Probably been a bit unsettled because of Christmas, you know.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean – it’s all very nice, but it’s good to get back to normal afterwards, isn’t it?”

  There was silence as David pulled out of the estate, misjudging the speed of an approaching bus and earning himself flashing lights and a crude gesture.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled again, “if we’d got stuck behind that thing, we’d be stuck behind it all the way in.”

  They passed the caravan site where they usually moved on from weather to what had happened/would happen at the weekend, depending on whether it was Tuesday or Thursday.

  “So,” she began, “how was Christmas?”

  David stared ahead and Diane wondered whether he had heard her.

  “David? So, how was your—”

  “Have you ever wondered whether you’ve got it all wrong?”

  Diane’s heart leapt – perhaps this was the opening that she’d been waiting for all these years? But, did she really want him to be her lover? What about Harry? He was a bit of a miserable old fart these days, but did she really want to leave him?

  “I had a talk with Louisa last night…”

  Louisa? Oh. Louisa. That sap. The plump child-woman who was the apple of David’s eye. The one that the sun shone out of, when her backside wasn’t stuck to the sofa. Diane had only met her once, but had heard enough about her to last a lifetime. She didn’t want to talk about Louisa, Louisa, every journey. She was sick of hearing about what passed as a young person’s escapades. Being told that Louisa had bought a new air freshener for her car on her lunch hour was not a topic of conversation in Diane’s book.

  She, Diane, wanted to talk about David and her, she wanted their flirting to move up a gear, she wanted him to tell her how he was getting fed up with Esther. She wanted hints that his marriage was on the rocks, that he wished he had gone for a woman like her etcetera, etcetera.

  Diane’s two children had left home in their late teens and although they had popped back for various intervals afterwards, Diane felt that she had done a good job; children weren’t supposed to be plumped up every night like another sofa cushion, they should be encouraged to make their own way in the world – ideally just around the corner, but their own way. They should also not be a main topic of conversation between potentially consenting adults.

  “How is Louisa? Did she have a good break?” Diane asked graciously, the nails digging into her palms the only giveaway to the irritation that she felt.

  “Oh, I think so, but no, this was about something else, something rather disturbing.”

  “Oh?” Diane really hoped that Louisa was pregnant with triplets by one of a potential five men, most of whom lived in squalor. Then at least they would be talking about something sexual, even if it was still about Louisa.

  “Yes, it seems that she has had to do one of those blog things for homework, and she, well, she thinks that there is nothing interesting in her life to write about.”

  Diane stopped herself from exploding into, “Well, of course there bloody isn’t! I could have told you that!” Instead, she managed, “Gosh, that’s worrying.”

  “Yes, she was so upset. Now she wants to get her own place, get some friends, a boyfriend, you know – those kinds of things.”

  “I suppose life can be quite empty at that age, without, well without these things?” said Diane quietly.

  David glared at her across the car – Diane was clearly not supposed to agree with Louisa’s state of unhappiness.

  “I said I’d ring around; try and find her a flat or something – perhaps a room with someone from work – Natasha has had lodgers in the past, I know. Perhaps she might be willing? I’ll ask her.”

  Diane shook her head. She knew that she’d let her own life slip into a whirl of TV listings and the quest to relax, but she was passionate tha
t her children should have a life that they would be enjoying at all times. She put her sexual frustration on hold for another day.

  “David, my love,” and she put her hand on his wrist and it felt warm and strong. “No, no, no, no, no. You will not ask around at work. You must not phone letting agents or pop by the newsagent’s board in your lunchtime.” David looked as if he’d been struck by a slap to the face.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The reason Louisa is…well, in this situation, is because you and Esther do everything for her. She’s an adult and adults need to make their own decisions and,” and she couldn’t resist, “their own sandwiches. Otherwise – they – won’t – know – how – to.”

  David looked furious. “Well, I know you mean well, but I’ll thank you to allow me to bring up my daughter in my own way.”

  “David – you’ve already brought her up! She’s twenty-six! She should have left home at eighteen, got a damp bedsit, moved back when she was skint, moved out again, lived with friends, gone out, got drunk, fallen down, decided not to do it again and then done it again…”

  “Diane! She’s still a child!”

  “No, David, she’s a grown woman!” Diane raised her eyebrows at him and then turned away to let his comment sink in.

  David fumed and raced into the car park. Instead of pulling in near the office door for Diane to walk just a short distance and leaving him to park, he pulled straight into a parking space at an angle that left her a mere crack to squeeze out through.

  Diane trotted after him across the car park, desperate to reconcile the tension. The touch of his arm had been electric to her and she’d gone and blown it before it had even had a chance to start.

  Iestyn woke to the sounds of his mother banging together what were surely saucepans. His head was pounding, his stomach was churning and his mouth was foul. He groaned. “Oh,” she said. “You’re awake.” Then he knew it must have been bad.

  “Drink this, eat those and then get yourself into the shower. You’ve a lot of making up to do.” Isla thrust a mug of strong tea at him and a large plate of toast. As he took it, he saw the state of the floor that Isla was trying to avoid with her slippers.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” she clipped. “Try the back seat of Menna Edwards’ truck.”

  Iestyn groaned again and rolled back into the forgiving folds of the sofa. “Trouble is,” smiled Isla, “we can’t be too cross, as we sent you out there! You feeling OK, love?”

  “Not really.”

  “I didn’t think you would be. Come on, get yourself sorted and then we’ll get you to Glascwm to clean out the truck.”

  Menna? The gentle voice? Oh, why did it have to have been Menna? Where the hell had Johnny Brechdan gone? And how on earth had Menna found him?

  Isla seemed to be able to see into his mind. “Apparently Menna was sitting with a friend in the same bar, but she didn’t think you or Johnny saw her. She saw you crash over the back of the sofa or something, and assumed that you had left with the others. But then she nearly fell over you when she went to the loo as the bar was closing. Apparently you were asleep on the carpet with rabbit ears on, or something…”

  “Did she bring me home?”

  “Yes, and you thanked her by being sick over her coat and all over her truck. How the hell she got you in here, I’ll never know; strong as an ox that girl.”

  Iestyn groaned again. As he shifted his head, the little men in jackboots jumping up and down inside it sucked the last of the moisture from his brain cells and his eyes winced shut involuntarily. It was all coming back to him. The hens, the rabbit ears and, as he shifted his position on the sofa, the peanuts down his backside. Menna had seen all that? She’d seen him standing on a sofa draped in women, yowling ‘Unchained Melody’ into a bottle of WKD, found him asleep on the carpet. Well done, Bevan – classy. Really classy.

  It was hacking down with rain by the time Iestyn was dropped at Menna’s bungalow. Luckily there had not been anyone about as they drove through Glascwm’s yard on the way to her bungalow; he didn’t feel much like greeting his neighbours after such a disastrous night and he could imagine Jean’s look of revulsion as she scented his breath over that of the cows.

  Menna’s truck was parked by her bungalow with both back doors open to the elements. Iestyn was dropped off unceremoniously, clutching a bucket filled with cleaning products including a pair of rubber gloves that would about cover the end of his fingertips, donated to him by Isla. He also had a large carrier bag to put Menna’s coat into.

  “Menna said can you drive it to the farm when you’ve finished; she’s got the bloke from the Ministry there, so she can’t be here with you now, but will give you a lift back – or if she can’t, Jean or Bill will.”

  Iestyn groaned again – facing Menna would be bad enough, but Bill or Jean? That would be too much to bear. He’d been hoping to cut across the fields and call for a lift from that bastard Brechdan when he got to the road; he was owed a favour for being abandoned the night before – most of this was actually Brechdan’s fault anyway.

  As he wondered if Menna had an outside toilet, he filled the bucket with water from the garage tap, added a generous portion of cleaning fluids, and set about scrubbing the yuck from the back seat, retching as he went. Every time he bent over to reach something from the floor, nausea engulfed him and he had to sit still until it passed. Whole peanuts had to be scooped out of the crevices and a dirty pair of rabbit ears rescued from under the seat. It was retribution of the worst kind…

  It was a wet and pathetic Iestyn with a slight tang of something antiseptic that drove into Glascwm’s yard later that morning. Menna was just coming out of a barn with a man with a pile of paperwork and she acknowledged him, then turned back to her companion. Iestyn was motioned by Jean towards the vehicle line-up and guided in as if he were boarding a cross-channel car ferry. He managed a little wave and then squeezed out of the door, desperate not to scratch the adjacent vehicle with the ripped zip that was hanging from his jacket.

  He walked over towards Menna, clutching his bucket and carrier bag and hovered around, feeling awkward, but not wanting to interrupt.

  “Well, thank you very much,” said Menna to the man from the Ministry, “I’ll get on with that then and we’ll see you again in, what, three months?”

  “Yes, three months. That’ll take us to, end of March?”

  They shook hands and then turned to Iestyn and his bucket. “Hello,” said the man, “Iestyn Bevan isn’t it? Pencwmhir?”

  “Yes, yes, hello,” he said quietly.

  “I’m just giving Iestyn a lift back now,” said Menna, “he’s been kind enough to, er, valet my truck!”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” started Iestyn, “I’ll walk… It’s not far…”

  “Oh, do car valeting as well do you? Good for you, boy: farmers need to diversify these days, don’t they? Good lad.” Iestyn nodded as he caught Menna’s raised eyebrow out of the corner of his eye. “Look, I’m actually going near your place now, on my way back to Bwlch y Garreg – I can drop you off if you want? I’m aware I’ve just given Menna an awful lot of work to do, and it’s no problem. You’ll probably be wanting to get ready to celebrate the new year?”

  Iestyn went green. “Well…” Iestyn looked at Menna who was skimming through the paperwork that she’d been given. In one way, he would love to get a chance to talk to Menna, to explain why he’d been such a cock and to thank her for sort of looking after him and to say sorry for being sick in her truck and to, and to ask – could it really be true that she draped a coat over him in such a gentle way last night? In another way, he just wanted to go home, scrub the smell of vomit from his hands, go back to bed and groan for a little bit longer and deal with the apologies some other time. Anyhow, she didn’t really look as if she wanted to have much to do with him – and why would she? She’d scraped a pissed friend off the floor of a bar in order to get him home, rather than to a police cell, and he’d repaid her by
throwing up all over her truck and her possessions: not really a defining moment in the start of a new sort of relationship…

  “Thank you, that would be very helpful,” he mumbled. “And, Menna, thank you so much for your help last night…”

  “I would say, any time, but I don’t actually mean it as such.”

  Iestyn grinned sheepishly, “Well, I mean it, I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t been there to help…”

  “Probably still in the same position.” She reached over to him and he mistook the move for one of sympathy and smiled. Instead, she removed something from his back and, with a bewildered expression on her face, held out a crumpled Smirnoff Ice label.

  Iestyn took it, mumbled his thanks again and followed the man to his truck and they set off down the track, each bump making his stomach churn and his head throb, as he answered endless worthy questions about his new car-valeting business…

  CHAPTER 9

  Hen genawes – an old vixen (an unpleasant woman, old bitch)

  It was Esther’s favourite time of the day although, frankly, that didn’t need to amount to a great deal. She would be up before David and Louisa, popping them a cup of tea and then having a shower herself. Even though they were adults, they both seemed to require her presence in the morning, finding ties to match shirts, digging out lost car keys and generally passing them things just before they were about to moan that they couldn’t find them.

  She knew that she was being a bit of a doormat, but it actually made her life easier. Both David and Louisa had the knack of making it feel as if it were her fault if they’d lost their scarf/mislaid office keys/had dog shit on their shoe. She would have to do everything anyway, so she was better off pre-empting things and making sure they were done before the frantic “Mu-um/Es-ther, have you seen my keys? I left them on the hook and now they’re not there – where have you moved them to?” that had her scuttling around, only to find them in a coat pocket where they’d been left.