The Year of Surprising Acts of Kindness

by Laura Kemp

  That premiere, though, was nothing compared to what Ceri had just witnessed on the big screen in the sky. A free-to-view sunset of oranges and pinks, purples and blues, like God’s own make-up palette, swirling and streaking and then sighing as it gave in to dusk and darkness. The colours were still dancing in the fire before her, which made sundown seem like it would last for ever. There was magic in the air – sparks were literally flying onto the sand in a dry and private hug of rocks close enough to the waterfall to feel dots of spray every now and again.

  ‘Well, this is better than being slapped on the face with a wet fish,’ Ceri said to Logan, who was looking dashingly handsome tonight across the rug from her.

  ‘You say the nicest things,’ he said, his white teeth standing out in a smile.

  But she had to keep it light because she had a sense that something was going to happen tonight. It wasn’t that she wasn’t tempted by him – it was more because she still didn’t feel as if she really knew him. She could hear Jade now, telling her to kiss him quick, but Ceri had always been more of a hug me slow type of person. The couple of times when she had let herself believe a man was into her, she’d been disappointed by the gold-digging which had emerged as soon as they’d come up for air. Yes, this was different because Logan didn’t know she was a money bags, but even so, there was too much at stake to make a mistake in this village. Ceri was pretty sure he liked her: their kayaking trip and then lunch, plus chats on the doorstep when he didn’t have any post for her and numerous drinks down the pub all added up to it. And it made her feel special: it had been that long since anyone seemed to have liked her for herself. She was veering towards feeling the same – they had chemistry and they made each other laugh. If she could crack him open a bit more, then perhaps that was all it would take to fall into his arms.

  There was still room for doubt – he hadn’t tried it on with her, not that he’d had much chance with all those eager eyes in the pub. Apart from Rhodri’s, who was so worried about the village’s future he’d gone a bit cold on everyone. Logan was a good distraction too – it meant she didn’t have to think about what happened next in her professional life. Not once had she doubted her decision to stay; the details would work themselves out, she would make sure of it.

  And having made the choice, she no longer felt as if she was hiding away from herself – Jade had sent her the photos from the shoot and she looked the part all right, with the perfect OMG look of surprise: wide eyes and shocking red lips, face tilted back and swishing hair. When Ceri had finally texted Tash to declare she was looking for a place to buy here, she’d been in the supermarket, stocking up in a show of commitment to Dwynwen. Tash had answered her straight away, asking if she was off her trolley. Yes, she was, she’d said, and she’d sent a snap of her actual trolley which was overflowing with cereal and pasta, rice and condiments in a sign of her commitment to her new life. But at least her news was out there – both Tash and Jade now knew she was settling here. What happened next with Cheap As Chic, she didn’t know: she had to wait to see if she was missed. With any luck, Jade being the face of the business would mean Ceri could stay in the background and turn her hand to the paperwork. She could do that from here.

  And so the weeks were going by and she was setting herself a routine of shower, breakfast on the decking, popping out to see Mel and going to work in the pub. In quiet moments behind the bar she’d look down to see her fingers tapping, waiting to pounce should inspiration or the next step on the road to happiness come along.

  Logan had wandered into the pub towards the end of her shift this afternoon with an invitation to see the waterfall close-up at low tide. He’d get some beers, float them in a rock pool to chill. She told him not to bother – she’d bring some when she came down. And here they were now, lying on their elbows, their heads resting on their hands, their silhouettes mimicking each other as they spoke quietly into the night beneath the stars. With a shiver, Ceri had a sense of déjà vu – she couldn’t help but think of her mother, falling in love on the sand by the sea with the man who had become her father.

  ‘You cold?’ Logan asked, his eyes shiny from the fire.

  She shook her head. ‘That sunset, it’s still sinking in. It was incredible.’

  ‘Wait till I show you the sunrise.’

  It was impossible to catch any meaning on his face in the darkness. She had to analyse what he’d meant by what he’d said: he was going to show her the sunrise. Was he saying he’d knock on her first thing one day … or they’d get up from the same bed to see it? It was tenuous, she knew, but the answer wasn’t important. The fact she was trying to read his intentions revealed she wanted there to be more.

  ‘I’ve been all over the world,’ he said, ‘and they don’t come better.’

  ‘What brought you here, Logan?’ she asked, digging deeper to find out more about him.

  ‘The surf. It’s different to the Gold Coast and Jeffrey’s Bay, Hawaii, Mexico … mainly because it’s so freezing in there. When I was younger, those places were where it was at, but the competition to teach was so high I came back to the UK. Cornwall was a crack for a while but I wanted somewhere quieter, somewhere permanent.’

  Oh, she could understand that – she hadn’t known how tired she was of crowds and cars until she got here.

  ‘But why Dwynwen?’ It was a speck on a map filled with possibilities.

  ‘My parents lived here, retired from Surrey, and when they went, they left me the house. So it made sense to stay for a while. I didn’t think it’d be fifteen years but it gets under your skin.’

  There was no pause for her to give him sympathy – she felt it, though, she was in the same position, knowing how rudderless it was not to have a mum or a dad to back you up. And if he had their home, he’d have no mortgage, which explained why he’d said he was comfortably off when they were kayaking. Two more similarities, she thought, feeling the gap between them closing.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ she said, ‘I didn’t think I’d end up staying when I first rocked up. I thought it was a hole.’

  She felt safe telling him this because he had experience behind him – he’d travelled and had worldlier insight. ‘But now, I love it.’

  ‘I suppose it all depends on where you are in your life. For me, I’d done my raging. I still hope one day I’ll be able to get my kids out on surfboards. What about you? Where are you in life?’ He shifted slightly forward and laid his hand between them. Would she look back and think that was the start of them inching towards one another? She even felt herself want to touch him … but suddenly, oh yuck, she felt a wet sensation on her feet.

  ‘Shite!’ she said, pulling her legs towards her to sit up, catching the moonlit foam of the culprit wave.

  ‘Jesus! Rookie mistake!’ he laughed, shooting up to grab the beers.

  ‘My jeans, they’re soaking!’ She started to laugh from the shock.

  ‘You’d better take them off,’ he said in a piss-take of his own smooth voice which tickled her because he’d made it sound deliberately suggestive. She kept on laughing as she got hold of the rug and shook the sand because another wave was coming her way.

  ‘For God’s sake, Logan, you’re supposed to be a master of the sea,’ she said, darting back and kicking off her trainers.

  ‘It’s your fault!’ he said as she ran from the water, the cold sand squidging beneath her feet. ‘Don’t tell anyone the surfer got taken by surprise by the sea, will you!’

  ‘And how is it my fault?’ she said, looking back at him over her shoulder as he came after her in hot pursuit. Whether it was the San Miguel or the giddy feeling taking a grip of her, her brain misjudged the change in the surface as the sand became drier and her knee gave way. It sent her flying and she managed to twist herself so she landed on her bum and ended up flat on her back. Within seconds, Logan had caught up and he’d thrown the bottles onto the rug before getting do
wn onto his haunches. They were both in fits, making big honking sea-lion noises at the ludicrousness of their evening. When one started to recover, the other pealed off again, and so it went on until Ceri had aching tummy muscles.

  ‘Stop!’ she squealed, fighting for breath.

  ‘Me?’ he said, panting. ‘This is all down to you!’

  She opened her mouth wide to protest her innocence. ‘How come?’

  He went down onto his all fours so his face was above hers and in an instant, his expression smouldered. He was doing that thing she’d seen happen to other people, when they’d drink in someone’s eyes and try to focus on all of their features, savouring them and full of desire. Logan was actually doing this to her. Seconds passed and in a mad brain flit she tried to work out if this was really what she wanted. At the same time, he was dropping down to his forearms so his mouth was inches from hers and she was trapped between wanting to and uncertainty, but her path between the two was slow and sticky as if she was wading through toffee pudding.

  ‘It’s all your fault,’ he said softly, addressing her as Miss Rees like she was in trouble, ‘because I forgot the time. You made me forget the time.’

  Her body was ready for him and all she had to do was close her eyes. It was so tempting and she felt her hips rising towards his. But there was something going on in her head that didn’t sit right. She didn’t know what it was: it felt like a flash or a bit of static interrupting her brainwaves, the type you’d hear if you moved an aerial around on an ancient radio. But it took her out of herself and it made her break away, rolling to her side, forcing him to lift an arm. She sat up and shook herself to get the sand out of her hair.

  ‘Everything okay?’ he asked from beside her.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘I’m just …’

  ‘Not ready?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘I understand. There’s no rush, eh?’

  ‘No,’ she said, feeling strangely vacant, now the moment of intimacy had gone. ‘I think I just need an early night.’

  ‘You?’ he joked, pulling her up to standing. ‘I’m the bloody postman! Come on, let’s go,’ he said, gathering their stuff. ‘I’ll walk you back.’

  When they reached her door, she thanked him for being a gent. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek and she knew she’d made the right decision to hold back. If in doubt, do nowt, Mum used to say and it was spot on tonight. As she said goodbye and closed the door, she felt dizzy and fizzy as if the thoughts in her head were muddled, unable to align into something meaningful. She rested on the hall wall and let her head fall back as if that would straighten the jumble. But nothing came and she was tired now and confused by feelings which were beyond her grasp. And then it didn’t exactly hit her, it crept up on her. An emptiness as if it was loss. Her mother, she thought, waiting for the gut punch because there was no Angharad waiting up for her with a cup of tea. But it didn’t come. Instead, it seeped up her body and she felt a warmth spreading as it came to her lips. Rhodri. She was missing him madly. Even though he was only across the way from her cottage. And she saw him most days. She hadn’t kissed Logan because of him. But why? It had to mean … but the thought was arrested there and then. Something darker, more troubling, was lurking and boom, it whacked her between the eyes. Like a lost memory which she’d forgotten she’d had but now stood there clear as day. Her heart stopped and her blood ran cold. Because when she was in a trance beneath Logan’s body, when he’d almost put his mouth on hers and then said her name, she was certain he’d called her Miss Price.

  23

  ‘Hello, it’s B&Q here … we’ve had an online order … reference 3BYG7 … and I just wanted to double-check because it’s quite large.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘So it’s for the low odour, low VOC water-based eco masonry paint. Thirty-five litres. Three. Five. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Seven litres of each colour?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Twenty-five masonry roller and brush sets as well? Five ladders, fifty disposable latex gloves and fifty disposable overalls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right, good. Going to, it says here, the Village of Love in Dwynwen?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks.’

  ‘One last thing and forgive me for asking, only we’ll get it in the neck from head office if it gets out … but that’s not a place for swingers, is it?’

  Mel stared fearfully through the cabin door at the columns of paint pots on the forecourt.

  Everyone else was oohing and aahing over them, inspecting the ladders, trying out the foam rollers and Gwil already had one foot inside a white boiler suit. This month’s surprise, she’d gathered from the excited clamour, was to return the cottages to their former colourful glory. It seemed their mysterious benefactor was sending a gift every few weeks: the bunting in March, the beer garden in April, and now this in late May, so they could prepare for the peak of the summer season.

  But Mel was frozen. This all felt like a conspiracy. She was trying her hardest to sort herself out but obstacles kept getting in her way. The future of Caban Cwtch hung in the balance, she was expected to take on her shoplifting half-sister and now these tins of masonry weather-coat were challenging her. She hadn’t picked up a brush in nearly ten years. It was as if someone out there was mocking her, waiting for her to fail. Maybe this was all connected. Could her father be the one behind all of this Village of Love stuff? Co-ordinating a campaign to force her to do something. Hadn’t he said her life was in stalemate? And he was always trying to get her to mend bridges with Mam and get closer to Ffion. Mel had refused point-blank to discuss it with him when she’d seen him. But it was festering within. Worse, his attempts to help were not empowering her as he intended: they were overwhelming. The bombshell of Fi’s summer job last week had sent her spiralling backwards to find the things which gave her comfort: her Etch A Sketch and her green troll which she’d packed in a box marked ‘throw’. She needed certainties, not what ifs, she thought, as she screwed up her face and rubbed her forehead. The door tinkled and Rhodri came in. At least he had a smile on.

  ‘You coming outside, Mel? Oh, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Just, you know …’ Her vision went dull and she knew she was heading for a funny turn. But she couldn’t do this in front of him because he was in a bad way himself and they never talked about serious things. It was an unspoken pact – he knew her history, she knew his. She couldn’t break it. Her body had other ideas, though, and she felt her legs weakening. Grabbing for a chair, she missed and Rhodri saved her fall.

  ‘Mel, what is it?’ His kind eyes were big with concern. Usually they were like a kaleidoscope of lovely twirling reflective and symmetrical browns, but today she saw only mud.

  ‘The paints,’ she whispered as she gave in and gave way, puddling into his arms.

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Al,’ was all she could say.

  Then somehow he got it: he understood the connection. Because he was her oldest friend.

  ‘The paints, they bring it all back.’

  ‘They do, they do.’

  He gave a little laugh and held her by her shoulders so he could see her face.

  ‘Look at us both, the past has a lot to answer for.’ She knew he was referring to his heartbreak over Ruth and how Dwynwen used to be. ‘It’s about time you and me looked forward, eh? Stopped wondering what was and why. And just accepted it. We can’t change it. But we can change the future. By being here in the now. And if the houses get the go-ahead, which I suspect they will, then we have to accept that too. Come on, come outside and help. Gwil’s gone all police forensics in that all-in-one. He’s zipped it to his chin and he’s snapped on some gloves as if he’s about to start looking for fingerprints. To find who’s behind it.’

  Mel giggled and looked into his eyes, their colour returning, the
sparkle like disco balls.

  ‘I’m wondering if it’s my dad.’

  ‘Lyn? I’d be very surprised. You haven’t seen the colours yet. They’re quite loud. Perhaps it’s a stunt? Perhaps it’s not from the same person as the last two. They’ve come from B&Q. It might be a way of getting some publicity, you know, helping out the village.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘but that’s the only theory I can come up with at the moment.’

  He picked up a teaspoon from the counter and gave it to her and led her to the tins, gesturing for everyone to move back. Mel saw them all nod in agreement – bless them all, because she was still ‘the artistic one’ even after all these years of doing nothing artistic.

  She approached the first and with her fingers trembling, she knelt down and levered the handle of her father’s mother’s brass spoon under the lid. This could be a can of worms, she thought, pausing. All right, one wriggle of them she could cope with but there were litres and litres of them and if they all got out, she might end up in a proper mess. Mel hung her head and the villagers let out a low rumble of worry. She saw the blob of her reflection in the shiny metal top, which was mostly scarlet from her birds of paradise jumpsuit: dare she believe in herself again? What if the sight of paint sent her back to the canvases of the past? What if her grip on now was too loose and she would slide into the darkness?