Cold Enough to Freeze Cows

by Lorraine Jenkin

  Iestyn and Johnny took their pints and went and sat round a table in the corner. Iestyn took a big slurp of his pint and smacked his lips, “So, much snow by your place? We’ve had—”

  “You’ll never guess what?” Johnny cut in, gripping the sides of the table in excitement.

  “What?”

  “I’ve got a baby! Well, not me exactly, but in our house! Tansy Shackles she’s called – the mother that is. I found her in the yard and the baby’s so beautiful. She’s called Gwen after Nain who helped me deliver her, and, and—”

  “Whoa! Slow down! What on earth are you talking about? Nearly as much shit as Ed.”

  Johnny launched in again, explaining a little more comprehensively this time.

  “Bloody hell!” Iestyn struggled to understand the light in Johnny’s eyes. “That’s a bit of a bummer, you know, if she’s in your room and you’re in the spare next to Nain and Taid; that’ll curtail your…activities!” Iestyn had considered Johnny’s grandparents to be his own as well, ever since he had first met them and given them a name. Isla had started by saying, “No, they’re not your nain and taid, they’re Johnny’s,” but had eventually given up. Now Iestyn had Nain and Taid, and then a secondary Nain and Taid Bevan, but Isla had suspected that Nain and Taid Brechdan had always been secretly pleased.

  “No, no, you don’t understand, it’s fantastic! Gwennie’s so beautiful. She’s only six pound two, even now at a week old!”

  The door opened again and Menna walked in. Iestyn and Johnny joined in the Shut the Door! chorus as the wind licked the warm air that had nearly settled around them. “Sorry!” called Menna and caught Ed’s signal that she were to join her friends and he would bring her drink over.

  “All right, folks?” she said, as she sat herself down at the table. “How’s it going?”

  “Don’t sit too near Brechdan, he’s gone broody!”

  “Broody? Brechdan? Cold weather got to your knackers or what? Thanks Ed,” she said as a pint was plonked in front of her and she took a large sip. “What’s happened? Been presented with twenty love-children or finally realised what that spotty willy of yours is really meant for?”

  Johnny explained again, this time prompted by Iestyn when he wasn’t quite making sense.

  “Wow! Tansy Shackles, eh? I know her – five-ten-ish? Blonde? Lives over at Cefn Mawr? You know,” she nudged Iestyn, “she was the one with the pigeon in her grill, you know – at Robot Charlie’s?”

  “Ah, her! I know now. Hey, good catch, Brechdan, good catch for a change!”

  “No, no,” he said, “you don’t understand. She’s not with me, she just turned up, out of the blue. I’d never met her before – anyway, she wasn’t at Robot Charlie’s. I’d have recognised her.”

  “So, you had your wicked way with her yet?”

  “Iestyn! She only gave birth five days ago!”

  “Ah, tell her to get back on the horse…”

  “Anyway, it’s different. It’s not like that.”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you have a five-foot ten blonde snowed into your house and you haven’t tried it on yet!”

  “No, you don’t understand…” Johnny was getting peeved, but Iestyn and Menna were smirking at each other, enjoying that he was getting so wound up, “…she’s beautiful and, well, I love her.”

  Iestyn blew his mouthful of beer back into his glass and Menna put her drink down. Both were stunned.

  “Oh, I know, take the piss, but, well, something’s come over me…”

  “That makes a change…”

  “…and I feel so different. She’s beautiful, so strong, and I just want to look after her and little Gwennie. I’ve never felt so, well, so caring and emotional.”

  “Bloody hell, Johnny,” Menna said, “you’ve got it bad. But, where’s the baby’s father – surely he’ll be back on the scene soon enough when he hears that the baby’s been born? Be careful: she’ll be all over the place just after having a baby – she may not know what to do and it could all change so quickly.”

  “I know, but her husband left her a few months ago – he seems a bit of a tosser. Fancy leaving a woman just because she’s pregnant?”

  “Oh, believe me, it’s more common than you think,” Menna said, dryly.

  “Well you should have seen her – it was wonderful to watch the birth, I feel privileged to have been there… Anyway, I need a piss.”

  After he’d left the table, Menna and Iestyn looked up at each other, a little wary now they had been left alone.

  “Bloody hell, he’s got it bad,” Iestyn said.

  “It’ll be good for him. Good for him to think with his heart rather than his cock for a change. Anyway, how are you? Any six-foot women turned up to give birth on your carpet during the snow?”

  “No chance. Father pushed the glass out of the kitchen window when he was trying to open it to let some smoke out – he’d left the bacon on – so the house is bloody freezing, or at least even colder than it usually is. A bin bag is not a good replacement for glass, even one of those thick ones… How about you?”

  “Oh, usual. Mother’s in a fret about vet’s bills and Father’s determined that the barn will get painted before lambing. Been up on a ladder all week in the ice and snow – I ask you! But, I’ve been all nice and snug in my little bungie, trying to read the paper and ignore the pair of them! I just wish they’d sit still occasionally – or at least let me!”

  “Oh, hang on, here’s daddy…”

  Johnny sat down and reached for his pint. “Oh, and by the way, Tansy’s house has been flooded, so she’ll have to stay with us until it’s fixed!”

  “Surely you’re not supposed to be pleased about that?” Menna said.

  “Well, insurance jobs take weeks, don’t they?”

  “What about her husband? Greg Shackles, isn’t it? He’s a dab hand at DIY, perhaps he’ll help out?” said Iestyn.

  “Who is he?” asked Johnny, “I don’t think I know him?”

  “Bit of a boring bastard, Greg. Works at the builder’s yard as a sort of quantity surveyor. I only know him ’cause when we were doing the back room, he helped me with what we needed – spot on he was too. Boring though. Always rattling on about his plasma TV brackets. Didn’t mention a five-foot ten blonde wife, though.”

  “Probably keeping that for his best customers; you don’t get that information when you keep asking to split a pack of twenty nails… Well, if you see him again, tell him that his plasma TV will never be working again and that his fancy new brackets are probably rusty.” Johnny took a large sip of bitter and smacked his lips together. “God, I must have done something good in a previous life: this feels like Christmas all over again, only a hundred times better!”

  CHAPTER 26

  Stori asgwrn pen llo – calf’s skull bone story (an unlikely story)

  Johnny and Tansy started getting themselves into a routine. Johnny would get up early to see to the stock, then would bring Tansy a cup of tea in bed and sit on the chair beside her and chat as she fed Gwennie. He would change Gwennie’s nappy and pyjamas and then disappear back outside. On his return they would eat breakfast together, then he’d put Gwennie in a sling made from a sheet by Nain and take her outside with him and let Tansy go back upstairs for a sleep.

  Gwennie would snuggle up against him with his big coat zipped round the outside of her sling and he would do a few gentle jobs, checking on the cows or chucking a bit of straw around for the dogs.

  Sometimes he would take her for a walk down the track, singing I don’t share your greed, the only card I need is the Ace of Spades, the Ace of Spades or We Plough the Fields and Scatter, these being the only two songs he knew nearly all the words to, or he would talk nonsense to her in a silly voice, all in a very un-Johnny-like way. He loved those times, when Gwennie was his sole responsibility and there was no one else but the two of them. He would watch her peeping up at him out of the top of his coat, or he’d sway her gently and share those few special se
conds as she couldn’t help herself and drifted off to sleep.

  Johnny reached the end of the track one morning just in time to see a cloud of smoke coming round the corner. HONK! HONK! HO—! Johnny laughed: that was obviously the last of Iestyn’s horn again. He could hear Iestyn swearing under his muffled scarf through the stuck-open window.

  “This fuckin’ truck! That’ll be another day I have to spend with my head under the fuckin’ bonnet!”

  Johnny sauntered over, unzipping his coat slightly so that Gwennie’s head poked out. “Gwennie, welcome to the world of shit trucks and swearing. All right, mate?”

  “This bloody truck – always something falling off or arsing up or… Hey, is that your baby? I’d get out, but I have to climb through the back door at the moment…”

  “Yes, this is Gwen. Cute, eh?”

  “Yeah, she certainly is! And they let you out on your own with her? Make sure you don’t leave her somewhere whilst you pop off to service one of your ladies, will you!”

  Johnny looked hurt. “Those days are over. I told you that the other night.”

  “Yeah, but you always say that. This is it! This is the big one! I am a changed man!”

  “Well, this time I mean it.”

  “You always say that, too. Anyway, how’s it going?”

  “Great. Tansy’s really well, very tired though as this little monkey wakes her mummy up at least three or four times a night, don’t you! Yes you do! Your poor mummy, eh Gwennie!” Iestyn looked concerned: it was as if his friend had been possessed by the spirit of Mrs Doubtfire. “But, apart from that, all well. The insurance company is going to fast-track Tansy’s house, so I’ll go and meet the bloke there tomorrow and then maybe we can start clearing it up. Couple of days’ labouring if you want it? Help me clear all the carpets etc out and into a skip? I’ll even pay you, how’s that?”

  “Great, I could do with a bit of cash at the moment; I’ve got, er, a young lady preparing herself to come on a date with me… I’m amazed really – I dropped some clumsy hint about eating Chinese and she said yes!” Iestyn braced himself for a torrent of laughter, incredulity and then abuse. At least a Christ, she must be desperate!

  “Hey, that’s great news! Is that the woman from the Internet? Fifi or whatever she was called?”

  “Lulu.”

  “Yeah, Lulu. Great. Good for you! About time you settled down, saw someone nice.”

  “Hang on, I thought you said that you thought she was the one who gave you a blow job in some taxi? And aren’t you supposed to tell me that it’d have to be a blind date as I’m so fuckin’ ugly that no one who knew me would go anywhere near me, etcetera?”

  “Well, probably – to both of those. But, good for you, Iestyn; that sounds really nice.”

  “Fuck me: I’m off. You’ve turned Stepford Man on me and I can’t cope.”

  “OK, but come here at nine tomorrow then and we’ll go to Tansy’s? Good. Right, I need to get madam here home; she’ll be needing a feed in about ten minutes. See you tomorrow!”

  “Yep, t’da,” and Iestyn politely waited until Gwennie was safely out of the way before he started his truck again, otherwise he’d have engulfed her in black fumes: not good for little lungs…

  Iestyn watched as his friend swung gently up the track, his arms enclosing the bundle strapped to his chest, protecting her as he crunched through the remaining snow. It just looked so strange. His mate, who usually only ever looked at babies if they were attached to a lactating woman’s breast, had been chirping and caring about someone else’s child. Perhaps it was different? Perhaps he really was in love with this Tansy woman? Whatever had happened had happened completely. He hadn’t used his phone once in Iestyn’s presence. Normally he would be constantly checking it, texting, making and receiving the tens of calls a week that were required to juggle his complex social life in the simple quest for lots of sex.

  Iestyn had always thought that Johnny would be a serial conqueror of women throughout his life. He didn’t seem to have a settling down bone in his penis and that was the only organ he used to plan his life. Yet, here he was declaring his love for someone, looking after their baby while they slept and giving up his seduction pad for their comfort: he’d be wearing slippers next and then where would they all be…

  Iestyn chugged away along the lane until he reached the village shop. He abandoned his truck alongside three others parked equally haphazardly, paying no attention whatsoever to the parking allocations, considered and marked out carefully at great expense by a man from the council.

  He pushed open the door that was covered in posters about events that had happened weeks ago and a little bell signalled his presence. Everything stopped as he entered and the woman behind the till stood with her mouth open. “Perfect timing,” she said with a smile. “Now, Iestyn: what is happening with young Brechdan? We need to know.” The two other women and the one old farmer clutching a cardboard box full of groceries that effectively wedged him between the narrow shelves nodded. “Is it true that a woman has turned up bearing his love children and that he’s getting married next Saturday, otherwise he’ll lose the farm? Oh, and how’s your mother?”

  Iestyn took a deep breath – he should have known that popping quickly into the village shop at a time like this would have been an impossibility…

  CHAPTER 27

  Y gwyddau yn y ceirch – the geese in the oats (the cat amongst the pigeons)

  The afternoon sun had peered in through the windows at Cwmtwrch Farm to a great enough extent to entice Tansy out for a walk. Apart from the distressing visit to her own home, she hadn’t been out much. After the initial excitement of the birth, the realities of being a new mother were taking their toll: tiredness, secretions from everywhere and a tortuous pain barrier in breastfeeding that wasn’t going away. She felt fat, floppy and in need of a haircut.

  On the whole, she had felt simple gratitude at staying with Nain, Taid and Johnny. She felt an easy welcome that she didn’t seem to be outstaying. They all buzzed around her with their busy daily lives and she slotted in quite happily amongst it all. Gwen senior had a way of absorbing all the work that was in her path and making it look effortless. She was continuously on the move, and even when she was standing and chatting, she would still be doing something: a sticky chair would be wiped, babygrows would be re-arranged on the airer or a pile of something would be moved a stage closer to its eventual destination.

  Tansy thought about how her own house would be if she were there at the moment and felt a twinkle of gladness that it was flooded. Such an act of God could never be her fault, so she could happily make the best of it and staying with these wonderful people was certainly the best she could make of anything.

  The last few months since Greg had left had been hard. Having a full-time job to do, plus a house and a garden to run had compounded the tiredness of pregnancy. Greg had been a very practical man and his liking had been for everything to be tidied neatly away somewhere – or he would damn well erect another storage solution to solve it.

  His garage was a man-shed of fanatic, high-testosterone proportions. Nails peppered the walls, each holding their own tool, and as if drawing around each tool to ensure it wasn’t hung on the wrong nail wasn’t enough, little labels had been made to fit in the centre of each drawing.

  Tansy had spent a miserable afternoon trudging around the shops with him looking for a suitable label printer, and had then been a label widow for two Saturday afternoons on the trot as “lump hammer, wooden handle” had followed on from “claw hammer, metal handle” (which had followed “claw hammer, metal hnadle”)…

  Tansy had always hated those weekend afternoons. It would be a dilemma between storming into the garage, whitewashing all the walls and screaming at him to spend some time with her instead of with his tools, or enjoying the fact that he was out of the way and she could laze around watching Oprah and Trisha on Sky. She knew that the first would probably be better for her marriage in the long run, but t
he second was actually quite nice in a guilty secret kind of way.

  Her feminist side would suggest that she get up and do something exciting herself, follow her own passions. However, her lazy, slovenly side would say, “sod it, I’ve had a hard week, so I’ll just sit and watch people arguing and blame my husband for being dull and boring and not doing something interesting with me at the weekend.”

  Somehow, after Greg left, although she did the same things that she’d done before on those Saturday afternoons, they were no longer relaxing and a bit cheeky. They were lazy and depressing. Greg’s presence in the house had kept the piles of washing at bay, but when he was no longer there to moan about the wet clothes condensating his hallway or grumble about the coats hanging on the newel post at the bottom of the banister – when he’d put up a perfectly functional rack that ensured that every single coat had its own hook (Tansy had sneered and asked whether he wanted to draw round his leather jacket to make sure it went in the right place), things had just slipped and she hadn’t the will or the energy to tidy them back up again.

  I’m pregnant and my husband has left me, she told herself, I’m bound to be tired and depressed. Actually, I can’t be bothered and now it’s too much effort to right it all, so I won’t do anything, spoke another more truthful voice. Therefore their neat little end of terrace that had been a place which people would enter and say, “Wow – what a great little house, you’ve done so much!” had now turned into a bit of a pit that people would grimace about and then ask whether she was coping or not.

  Therefore, her stay at Cwmtwrch meant that she could leapfrog all that intermediate tidying and sorting and just start again, living like she now intended to: putting things away and keeping on top of the clutter. Hopefully someone would chuck most of her things in a bin bag and then help her to put away new stuff when it arrived courtesy of the insurance company.