Cold Enough to Freeze Cows

by Lorraine Jenkin

  He had taken a deep breath and gone for it.

  “Oh, Menna, Menna,” he’d said, grasping one of her hands with both of his. Her head snapped up in surprise.

  “Iestyn? What are you doing?”

  But it was too late now for him to reconsider; this had been on the tip of his tongue for years.

  “Oh, Menna, I’m here now; we can be together at last! I’m so glad that you feel the same as I do!” He kissed her hand as the only thing even remotely available to him and the smile of fresh love burst from his face.

  “Iestyn!” Her voice was confused, horrified even. “What the hell are you doing?” She had pulled her hand away and jumped to her feet.

  Iestyn remembered looking up at her, expecting to see love shine from her to him. Instead, it was a snarl that signified anger and maybe even distaste.

  He was shaken by it, jumped to his feet and stepped backwards so as to lessen its intensity as it ground into his heart. “But…Menna…I thought – our tree?” As he said it, his puzzlement sounded pitiful.

  She laughed. A cruel, harsh laugh. “Our tree? You’re joking aren’t you? You thought that I…? God, you men just haven’t got a bloody clue have you, not a bloody clue.” She made to walk off but turned back for one last twist of the knife. “Why on earth do you think that I’d be interested in you at a time like this? For fuck’s sake, Iestyn…” Then over her shoulder she called, “Fuel’s in the truck; help yourself.” Her dismissive tone told him that she was so completely unimpressed by his declaration of love that it was forgotten and she walked off into the woods, swinging her jumper over her shoulder, apparently enjoying the birdsong coming from the trees.

  Iestyn watched her go, walking sure-footedly over fallen branches, not even noticing the cluster of nettles that wrapped themselves around her bare legs.

  His face was burning so hot that he reached his hand up to feel it. What had happened then? What had he been thinking? Iestyn ripped off his jumper, the heat from his exertion coupled with his embarrassment becoming suddenly unbearable.

  He rubbed his hands through his hair and set off up the hill thankfully in a different direction from Menna. His hands and legs were shaking but he strode off as fast as he could, stumbling over a tree root as he went, another kick of disloyalty from their tree.

  He found the fuel in the back of Menna’s truck and pulled it out. He decided against short-cutting back through the woods in case he bumped into her again and instead he walked along the track, his boots now rubbing his feet, chafed from the earlier gambolling down the steep bank. Despite that, all he could think about was Menna looking at him with as much distaste as a woman could muster. Why on earth do you think I’d be interested in you? As he finally made it to his quad bike, filled the tank and headed for home, he had taken a hard look at himself and what he represented. Stubbly faced, probably extreme body odour (given the gambolling), knackered quad bike, holey wellies, scraggy sheep…

  Yeah. Why on earth would anyone?

  Iestyn drove slowly as he contemplated the past in the present’s new context. Suddenly it all made sense; his timing on that occasion couldn’t have been any worse! No wonder Menna had retreated into the world of all work and no play. She’d been shafted good and proper and lost a baby in the process – and then he, Iestyn, had piled in asking if they could live happily ever after, and just made it worse.

  So, how would she be feeling now he wondered? Would she be elated by her performance? Cleansed and ready for a bit of impromptu canoodling, or would she be sitting, sobbing, over the wheel of her truck?

  And what should he do? Iestyn drove even slower as he pondered his actions. Probably best just to be a friend. Check she was OK, get her home, change into his white officer’s suit and— No. Take her home, make her a cup of tea, listen if she wanted him to and then go and collect the family and write off the whole night as a bad job, maybe moving to start a new life in Australia in the morning.

  Hang on – Iestyn squinted. It seemed as if the tail lights in front of him were moving again. Shit – he should have driven faster. They jumped back onto the road and then seemed to veer off left again and he could see the lights bouncing up and down as the vehicle went over rough ground.

  That wasn’t the way to Menna’s farm. Perhaps it wasn’t her after all? Perhaps she’d gone into town and was sitting having a giggle and a Martini with Lulu in a bar as a guy played I got the Iestyn Bevan Blues in the corner?

  Unless – surely that wasn’t the back lane to Menna’s farm? There was an unsurfaced green lane that had served the farm and which forded the river. Menna’s grandfather had been one of the first people in the area to get a car and, not wanting to risk driving it through a ford, he had cut a new track to join the council road and make use of their bridge. The family still used the lane sometimes, but only with a four-wheel drive and in summer. He and Menna had driven her dad’s Land Rover along it, practising driving, as kids. Bill had rollocked them for “cutting the surface to buggery”. But Iestyn also remembered later overhearing Bill telling Tomos, with pride in his voice, that he was amazed that the two twelve-year-olds could cross a ford in such a clapped out old vehicle!

  It was technically a short cut, but only if the ground were dry and the river was low. But, early February? Ground dry and river low? Tonight? No chance. He’d better get moving…

  Esther put on her coat and stood outside to wait for the taxi; she couldn’t bear to be inside the police station for another moment. She stood as far back into the shadows as she could, as much for her own privacy as for sheltering from the bitter wind. Convenient as it might be, it would never do to hitch a lift home with a passing Louisa, eyes full of sparkle from her evening with a new beau.

  She felt as if she’d been in a washing machine, battered, spun, disorientated and emerged a wrung-out rag. What should she do now? Did she tell people what had happened, what she had done? Get her version out before it appeared in the papers? Mind, her version would not be any less seedy than a write-up in the local rag – how could one turn a wad of spiteful letters into something less despicable than what it actually was?

  A taxi pulled up and she walked towards it, feeling as if her legs might not make the five yards. A familiar head opened the door to her.

  “Mrs Harrison? You all right? I wasn’t expecting to pick you up again today – and especially not from a police station!”

  “Oh, hello, Shane. No, it’s not been a usual day today for me. Can you just take me home, please?”

  “Course, love. What’s been going on then? Been fighting? Grand theft auto? Or just a bit of GBH? Heh, heh.”

  Esther climbed into the back seat and rested her head on the window and tried to ignore Shane’s delight in his repertoire of jokes about criminals and policemen and their truncheons.

  They drove along the street, the slush skitting out from under the car. Esther looked out the window as they passed 40B Market Street. There was a light shining through the green curtains. It all looked very cosy in there considering it was such a foul night. She imagined David – sorry, Scamper – cuddled up with the Whore on the sofa. Diane would be wrapped around Scamper and they wouldn’t really be watching what was on the television – they’d probably only have it on to drown out the noise of their antics for the sake of the occupants of other flats in the block.

  Would they be laughing at her? Probably. She could imagine Diane saying, “Did you see her face? Oh, priceless! Oh well, at least she knows about us now. It was getting too difficult to hide the way we felt for each other.” David probably wouldn’t speak; he would just hide his face in Diane’s warm folds and be happy that he had someone soft and jolly and in love with him to cuddle, instead of someone like Esther, who was tolerant of him in a cold, bony and irritated manner.

  Tears slid from Esther’s eyes as she stared back at the window and they continued to fall until she was dropped off, in silence, in Anweledig.

  The Jeep’s enormous headlights managed to pick out
the lane easily and Menna’s tracks were visible through the few remaining stubborn drifts of snow, now grey with age.

  Luckily the grass soon turned to a stony track and Iestyn’s truck managed to grind along it without his city tyres sinking into the mud. The route was filled with great lumps of stone and he winced as the chassis grated and clunked. Every now and then he would hit a muddy patch and slide into a hedge, or spin dangerously near a ditch. Twice he ground to a standstill, his wheels spinning in the sludge and he had to climb out and throw a few rocks under the tyres, wading though the brown water that ran down the ruts, soaking his shoes and muddying his trouser legs.

  Joe’s truck was soon filthy and he hoped that he hadn’t dented it where it had slid into a branch sticking out of the hedge. In addition, every time Iestyn got back into the seat, he brought a slurry of red-brown mud with him and he knew that he had covered the mats and the seat in sludge.

  Sleet started falling and Iestyn fumbled for the windscreen wiper, finding the stereo volume stem first and making himself jump out of his skin. The track rounded a bend and then started heading steeply down hill. Shingle had been laid on the slope to make it easier to traverse and the truck slipped and slid down it. Where the hell was Menna, he thought as he put the diff-lock in. He was hoping that he would have caught her up by now, but that was unlikely really considering her head start and her not being worried about driving her brother’s forty-grand Cherokee. Eventually the slope was too much for the Jeep and Iestyn slid the remaining ten yards to the river – sideways – with his heart in his mouth.

  He glided to a halt parallel to the river which was just yards from him. Thank fuck for that he breathed. Any faster and he’d be heading off down the river in it by now! He sat waiting for his heartbeat to slow down and wondering what on earth he should do next.

  He put the windscreen wipers on high speed and strained to see out of the side window to gauge the state of the river. To his dismay it was a raging torrent of blackness. How was he ever going to get through that? The shallow ford he remembered as a kid had been engulfed by a deluge of melted snow that had picked up mud and stones as it went.

  How stupid he had been – he should have guessed that the river would be in spate. At this rate, Menna would be home, in bed drinking cocoa and he’d have to ring her and ask her to come and pull him out!

  He looked back up the track at the shingle slope. Although that too was enveloped by blackness, he knew that he would never get back up it in the Cherokee without off-road tyres. It was either through the ford within the vehicle, or through the ford without – or walk back up the lane, right round by road and then back down the proper farm track – probably about three and a half miles. No, he really didn’t fancy that either, especially in this stupid bloody get up; he’d be hypothermic by the time he got anywhere with any heating. He could sleep in the truck, and though, knowing Joe’s penchant for extras, there would probably be a mini bar and a plasma television screen in the back it would still be a grim night – especially for a six-foot-two-inch bloke in a bad, and worsening, mood.

  He checked his phone – no, of course not, no reception. Bollocks: stuffed. Well and truly stuffed. He decided that it wasn’t going to get any easier and so he made the decision to get out and quickly check the river – then he could either cross it, or dismiss that option and bed down for the night in the truck. He took a deep breath, turned his coat collar up and plunged out into the night.

  The cold bit through his clothes and his feet, which were already chilled from their earlier soaking, had a new trickle of water run across them to replace that he had valiantly warmed up a few degrees. The sleet slashed against his face and he hunched himself over as he walked down the rest of the slope to the river. He stood and watched it, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as he saw sticks and fertiliser bags that had been dislodged from the river banks by the increased flow, floating by.

  He looked upstream, knowing that it narrowed and therefore would be a deeper channel. Downstream, well, that might be possible? Then his eyes spotted something – surely a light? Was it Menna’s bungalow? Her truck might be stopped by a gate? No, surely not; it looked different to that. More like – shit! – more like the interior light of a vehicle.

  Without hesitating, he ran towards it, glad of Joe’s truck’s headlights as he slipped and tripped along the river bank.

  “Menna?” he shouted, knowing that he was competing with the sound of the river. “Menna!” He tripped over a rock jutting out of the grass and he fell headlong, sprawling into the sodden mud that had been churned up nicely by sharp hooves as cattle had stood and drank from the river. He scrambled to his feet, mud sticking to his shoes and doubling their size and making moving difficult.

  He could see the light plainly now – good God, it was an interior light, he could see the outline of her truck now, and it was in the river!

  His eyes had acclimatised a bit and he could see the vehicle’s silhouette at a tilt and the water raging and foaming around it. Shit, what on earth had happened? He fell again, this time knee deep in slurry and one shoe and then the other was sucked off. He could either waste time delving up to his shoulder in the mud or just go on without them: he went on without them, knowing that Joe would think it no loss.

  Finally he got to the truck and stopped dead as he surveyed the scene: a tree had fallen across the river and the truck was wedged within the branches. The river was raging halfway up its doors and the back was lifting up and down as if just another few inches of torrent would tip it up onto its nose.

  “Menna!” he screamed again, “Menna!”

  Through the noise of the water he heard a scream in return, a terrified, hysterical cry that made his blood run cold. He saw fingers clawing out of the sunroof that was about two inches open and was prevented from opening any further by a chunky catch.

  He shouted to her again and quickly assessed the situation. If he scrambled along the fallen tree, he could climb up onto the bonnet and then wrench that roof open. It didn’t look easy, but it was his only chance – and hers by the look of it.

  He leapt up the root ball of the tree – that was the easy bit. Then he edged his way along the lower trunk, cursing the lack of grip from his socks. Then he started going out over the water and he could feel himself getting more and more tense and therefore less and less agile. Don’t look down, don’t look down, he told himself as he looked down into the spinning, foaming torrent.

  He was thankful to reach a few jutting out branches and used them as handholds, as his feet, with sodden socks hanging off the ends, slid about on the ivy. Eventually he was above the truck and could see one of Menna’s hands pressed white against the inside of the windscreen. He kept shouting to her, telling her that he was on his way and that she’d be fine, but he had no idea whether she could hear him or even knew that he was there.

  What had happened? Was she OK? What if she was trapped within the actual truck? It was too much to contemplate.

  Finally he sat on the tree and inched a foot down onto the bonnet. He tested it for stability and it seemed stuck fast within the branches. The nose must be wedged, being pushed under the tree by the weight of the water coming along behind it.

  He could hear Menna screaming again as he carefully put his full weight onto the bonnet, having tossed his flapping socks away into the water. Crouching low, he crawled up the bonnet and made a dive for the windscreen, hanging onto the wipers as he caught his breath, his heart beating wildly within his chest.

  Iestyn pulled himself up to the roof and shouted through the sunroof, “Menna! Are you OK? I’m here now; I’m going to get you out, OK?”

  He could hear her crying inside, sobbing and then a shout, “Iestyn? I’m OK, but just get me out!” It rose to hysteria as he grabbed at the sunroof. Damn – it was stuck fast and was too tight to the vehicle to get any purchase on it to lever it away.

  Menna started banging the underside and he yanked the top, but the mechanism was strong and it
wasn’t budging. Iestyn felt desperate. He could feel the truck moving about a bit as he struggled with the catch – perhaps it wasn’t wedged as tightly as he had first suspected.

  “Find something! Something heavy – I need to lever this off or break it.” Ages seemed to pass and he shivered as he spread his weight across the bonnet, after feeling the vehicle shift when she moved around inside. Eventually a shoe poked through the gap.

  “No!” he shouted, “something bigger, heavier!” He heard her screaming something at him, but he couldn’t make out the words. He tried to lever the top off with the shoe, but the heel cracked off. He tried to knock the mechanism sideways, but it was no good. He was getting cold and tired from hanging on and the rain had run all the gel from his hair into his eyes and was making them sting.

  “Fuck it!” he shouted, rubbing his eyes and rattling at the sunroof. Then a slim stainless steel Thermos flask was pushed through.

  “Fantastic!” he shouted and on the third crash, was able to knock the catch sideways and prise the flap upwards. By the time he’d righted his balance, Menna’s arms were out of the gap and her head and shoulders quickly followed.

  Had he not known who she was, he would have struggled to recognise her. The moon had peered around a sleet cloud and he could see that her face was swollen and distorted with terror. “Just get me out of here!” she screamed. “Get me out!” The truck shifted its position and Iestyn knew that they had to be careful.

  “Menna,” he shouted, holding her shoulders as she struggled to wriggle out through the roof, “wait, listen, we need to be careful, OK? Don’t bounce, don’t jump or we’ll be tipped up, OK?” He gripped her tightly to make sure that she listened.