The Year of Surprising Acts of Kindness
Page 19
‘So how are you feeling?’ Logan asked. ‘Glad you came along?’
‘Very,’ she said, swishing the clear water with her fingers, feeling the contented ache in her arms. ‘It’s so peaceful.’
‘You’ve got to watch out for the sharks, though, Ceri,’ Logan said, straight-faced.
‘That’s right, poke fun at the townie.’
‘I’m serious!’
Ceri snatched her hand out of the sea and sized him up. He was very convincingly wide-eyed but she wasn’t going to fall for it. ‘No, you’re not.’
‘Honest to God, Ceri. A nineteen-stone nine-footer was caught off the coast recently, attracted by the mackerel.’
‘Oh my God, shouldn’t we go back in?’ She looked around frantically, as duh-duh duh-duh music played in her head. Her kayak began to rock with her movement and she felt fear creeping up on her.
‘They very rarely come in,’ he said, steadying her with a touch on the kayak’s nose. ‘Summertime usually, so we’re safe for another few weeks at least.’
Ceri clutched her chest as the threat passed. ‘Bloody hell, you gave me a right fright.’
He made a fin out of his right palm and stuck it on top of his head, making her laugh out loud. God, she felt an idiot! Ha, and now she’d get some revenge!
‘I’ve heard there are sharks on land too.’ She folded her arms and gave him an over-the-top panto stare.
His eyebrows shot up – and the edges of his lips curled. She felt an electricity go through her: he’d not just understood she was talking about his reputation, but also he was amused by her daring to bring it up. His smile was like a reward which made her want to shimmy.
‘I see,’ he said, his eyes dancing. ‘You know, Ceri, I wouldn’t listen to what people say about other people.’
He was absolutely right, of course, and absolutely flaming gorgeous.
‘I mean, I haven’t, when they’ve been gossiping about you …’
Oh, touché! He had turned it onto her with anything you can do I can do better and now she had an itch she was desperate to scratch but couldn’t. What had they been saying about her? She knew they’d talk about her, it was human nature, but his tone suggested there was something more. Was it about her identity? It couldn’t be – someone would’ve said. Whatever, she wasn’t going to ask, no way, she wouldn’t give him the rise.
‘Very good,’ she said, appreciating the banter because it’d been so long since someone had played with her like this. It was almost flirtatious, if she wanted to see it. Which she didn’t, not at all.
But sadness shadowed his eyes.
‘I know what they think of me here,’ he began, now softly, ‘I’m single, not married like them. I don’t spend every night down the pub, like them. I have a busy life, unlike them, other things to do. I have the surf school, which they think is a jolly but I’ve busted my balls to keep going. “How can he afford to live on a postman’s wages, he must have more” …’ he said, in a light Welsh mimic, ‘but they don’t know about loss and I don’t air stuff like they do. I’m English too, it’s enough for some.’ He sniffed the air and shook his head. ‘Don’t get me wrong, this is home, it has been for fifteen years, and I love it here, for all of this.’ He spread his arms and looked around him. ‘It’s just people make assumptions about you when they don’t know you. Based on something they think you are … or you’ve done.’
Blimey, it rang so many bells he could’ve been morris dancing. Just like him, she was on her own, hard-working and English, despite what they said about her mum making her Welsh. His words reflected her experience – it was as if she’d found someone on her wavelength.
‘I get it.’
‘Yeah?’ he said nervously, fiddling with the toggle on his life jacket as if he was a little kid.
‘Yep.’ Ceri didn’t want to say any more because she had to be sensible. And the way he was looking at her with a very unplatonic mix of tenderness and gratitude, she was feeling anything but.
‘Right,’ she said, picking up her paddle.
‘Course,’ he answered, clearing his throat. ‘I don’t think we’re going to see any seals today. If we were going to, they’d be on the rocks. So, do you want to head in?’
‘Yeah. I’m starving, actually.’
He pulled alongside her as they turned themselves towards the shore and made for home.
‘Me too. Fancy lunch somewhere?’
‘Yeah,’ Ceri said, ‘I’ve had my fill of baps from the cabin if I’m being honest.’
‘Cool. It’s on me, no arguments, to say thanks for listening. Or to buy your silence! It’s a beachside restaurant. Called La Casa.’
‘Wait … is it a Spanish place?’
‘Yes. Do you know it?’
‘No. But … well, my dad was Spanish.’
‘Really?’ Logan looked impressed, which people often did, although she never really understood why because she had nowt to do with it.
‘Yeah,’ she said, feeling happy and relaxed. The happiest and most relaxed she’d been in yonks.
‘Funny …’ he said ‘… because they told me you were from the exotic town of Crewe!’
She let out a huge guffaw, drunk on his company as if she’d been necking bubbles of fun.
‘Ha bloody ha!’ she said, brimming over with hilarity. ‘But you’re in for it now …’
And with a cheeky swipe of her paddle, she covered him in water and headed for the sand, digging deep and defying the coming blisters on her hand because the pain, the joy, the everything right now was making her feel so very alive.
On the shore, she changed in Logan’s van, only sneaking one look at his snake-hipped body which gleamed with salt water.
Once he was done, he jumped in and shook his dripping dirty blond hair before fixing her with his green eyes, framed by thick wet lashes.
‘Ready?’ he said, switching on the ignition. He was a handsome hot mess of a cliché – and it was impossible he didn’t know it. Yet he wasn’t anything like the gossip made him out to be. She’d developed a bullshit radar and good-looking men made it beep like a flatlining heart monitor but honestly, right now, she couldn’t see anything nasty about Logan. Yes, he had a reputation here but could it be he’d been pigeonholed as a single man – hadn’t she been labelled the career bitch by Dave’s mates when they’d split up? She bit her lip and decided to take him as she found him.
She nodded and they set off, climbing out of Dwynwen, rising up and up to the A-road and then back down to the left where they dropped again to the coast to a village called Glan-y-mor, which translated as sea shore. From the moment they drove in, passing busy shops and white cottages, Ceri saw why Dwynwen had fallen by the wayside. The beach was studded with stylish little eateries and cool bars which opened out onto decking on the sand as if it was something out of the Med. Deckchairs for hire were all the same sunny yellow and white design. And a small stylish pier at the furthest end offered boat trips to watch dolphins. As Ceri strolled with Logan on the neat prom, which proved irresistible to couples and families, scootering children and panting dogs, she noted the free wifi signs, outdoor heaters and posh facades of the village, no bigger than Dwynwen but busy and alive. If there was a beauty contest then Glan-y-mor would come second for it wasn’t blessed with its rival’s natural assets, nor did it have much Welsh character. But it was smart and upmarket – and it knew it.
‘So this is why Dwynwen’s gone down the dumper,’ Ceri said, as Logan showed her to her seat in the bijou bistro he’d mentioned.
He laughed and called to the waiter, checking she was okay with a beer and a platter of whatever was on the menu.
‘Nice place,’ she said, sniffing the air rich with garlic and seafood and taking in the vintage bull-fighting posters, lobster pots and guitars on La Casa’s walls.
‘Glan-y-mor is great, isn’t i
t?’ Logan sighed as two bottles landed on their table.
‘I meant the restaurant.’
‘You don’t think Glan-y-mor is great?’ he said, confused.
‘Well, it looks good but … this is just my opinion … it just seems a bit soulless, if you know what I mean? It could be anywhere, it doesn’t feel Welsh like Dwynwen does.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing!’ Then he rubbed his fingers and thumb together. ‘It attracts money, though. You should see its surf school. Open every day and busy from April to October.’
She couldn’t argue with that and over succulent prawns and juicy chorizo they chatted easily, him full of interest in her life. Whereas once she’d been guarded, she felt freer than ever before, confident in his company – apart from when he’d put a hand on her and she turned to jelly. He asked her questions about her family, what she liked to do in her spare time and her opinions on anything and everything. He actually listened, too, which Ceri wasn’t used to with the men she’d dated. And there was no work chat either, which was a relief. By the time the bill came, she felt awful she’d been the one doing all the talking. He went to his back pocket but Ceri beat him to it, snatching the card machine just in time.
‘No! It’s my treat. I invited you!’ Logan protested, still fiddling for his wallet.
‘You took me kayaking. This is on me,’ she insisted, pushing in her Visa.
Then his shoulders sank and he shook his head. ‘It’s a good job actually … I left my wallet in the van.’
‘Classic!’ Ceri laughed.
‘Embarrassing,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll pay you back.’
‘Nope.’
‘I’ll just have to take you out again then,’ he said, his eyes full of challenge.
‘Maybe,’ Ceri said, shrugging non-committally.
But inside she was privately praying she remembered her PIN because right now, her head was not paying attention to anything other than her cartwheeling heart.
Ceri counts her blessings
It’s my birthday, Mum, the seventeenth of April, and I won’t lie, I woke up feeling miserable.
Hitting thirty is a milestone and I suppose I have been wondering if I’ll always be alone. But that wasn’t why – it’s because it’s another first without you. I miss you so much. If only I could have you back for one day to hear your laugh or watch you pottering about … sometimes I think I see you out of the corner of my eye and my heart beats so fast and then when I realise I feel so sick and angry and sad.
Last year, remember, I had a huge birthday, a big party in a five-star hotel paid for by the cosmetics people with an ice sculpture of a lipstick, a cake in the shape of a perfect pout and vodka on tap, surrounded by fake mates. It was all right but my favourite bit had been the day before when you and me had a spa afternoon at home. I had all my treatments done, new eyelashes, spray tan, all that, and you had a hand massage. It calmed you right down and you seemed to know who I was for a while.
I went into St Davids this morning to do some shopping and Tash texted me happy birthday. It read like it was an effort for her. There was no ‘card and pressie to follow’, just a ‘so busy with the kids and house-hunting’ finishing with a ‘see you soon’, which is unlikely. We spoke the other week, she said she hoped my break might make me see sense and I’d go back up north. Running away didn’t solve anything, she said, but I can’t win with her – my life there was all surface back in February and yet now, when it feels more meaningful, she thinks I’m in la-la-land. The bond we have is unravelling, as if you were the only thing connecting us … Good old Jade saved the day with a big bunch of flowers but they’re flashy exotic ones and they look so out of place here. As for Dwynwen, no one knows and I prefer it that way, I don’t feel like celebrating.
Those blessings were impossible to find this morning. But I decided if you couldn’t come to me, I’d come to you, so number one, I’m at the Aga and the tea caddy is beside me. You’re keeping an eye on things, as you used to, suggesting a bit of this and a bit of that to add to the pot. And little by little, as I’m stirring away, it feels like the fog is lifting. We did this, didn’t we, every now and again, go back to how it all started by making a lip gloss from scratch. Two tablespoons of coconut oil, one of beeswax and cocoa butter, melting in a glass bowl in simmering water. While I’d mix it up, you’d tell me you were off out later, going to a disco with your friends or getting ready to see Emilio. And then we’d put in the essential oils and I’d add strained cherries and once we’d poured it into tubs to set, you’d ask for a makeover. Eighties-style, that was your era, so it’d be pinks and blues and lots of blush. I’d put on the Human League, maybe, and you’d wonder whether you should wear your spaghetti-strapped yellow dress or the puffball skirt and shoulder pads.
This one I’m making now, I’m using one of your saucepans that I rescued from Junction Road. I think you’d like it – it’s Welshcake flavour with orange, clove and cinnamon oils I bought in an organics shop in town. Then it’ll be into some nice little heart-shaped pots to set – I’m not sure what I’ll do with them. But it’s lovely to know the knack is still there. Even after all this time …
Can you believe it’ll be May in a couple of weeks? The days are getting longer, that’s worth a blessing alone. I’m in a routine of sorts now: breakfast of Welsh butter and local honey on toast on the decking, which sits above the rooftops because the cottage is cut into the hillside, where I follow the comings and goings in the village, plus look out to sea at birds and boats. In the evenings, I sit and watch the sunset, which is like those holiday cocktails starting with orange then sinking into red.
Third, the weather’s improving, getting warmer and clearer. The sky is incredible – whether it’s big and blue when I’m on my way to work or twinkling with stars when I finish; I’ve never seen the Milky Way before, you’ve no chance with the M6. Now I understand why Brian Cox makes such a fuss. That sea too, it’s actually emerald green when the sun’s out. And so clear! How would I know, you’ll be asking, well … that Logan, the postman-surfer guy, took me out on a kayak and it was brilliant. I’ve never done anything like that in my life before and it was scary, being out of my depth, but I saw the waterfall and now I understand why you loved that beach. From the sea, you could see how tiny the village is, sat at the bottom of a basin with the hills beyond. No wonder you can hear the waves from the cottage, it’s like being in an amphitheatre.
Listen to me, I’m turning into one of the locals! Yes, the locals who I suspected at first were the victims of a secret experimental psychotic drug trial by the government. But I just wasn’t used to kindness. And now I feel as if I belong, that’s a blessing, especially when Dwynwen is going through this transformation into the Village of Love. A delivery of beer garden furniture was received like the crown jewels and from my spot on the decking, I’ve seen Gwen and Gwil cuddling up with a cuppa on one of the loveseats. It’s very sweet to see they’re still so in love, bar the odd frank exchange when Gwil sits on Gwen’s side. It means I’ve still got the chance to find someone who feels the same way about me as I do them. That brings me to you again. I haven’t forgotten the ashes, I’m working up to it.
As much as I feel settled, I still can’t face letting you go yet. But I’m beginning to see that it’ll come. There’s a bit of hope inside of me and that feels like the best of all today’s blessings.
20
Where was everybody? Rhodri looked up and down the road for his allies but he saw only strangers’ eyes which dropped quickly, uncomfortably, to the pavement.
It was no wonder: he was wearing a cardboard sandwich board declaring Save Our Woods in black Sharpie and at first sight, he probably did look like one of those religious nutters declaring the end was nigh. He’d certainly felt a bit of a melon chanting his slogan on his own as his alternately amused and bemused co-workers popped in and out of the council building for lunch.