The Year of Surprising Acts of Kindness

by Laura Kemp

  Ceri would use the time to keep building her new business. Called Acts of Kindness, it was a bespoke service for those who wanted to give anything from practical help to treats and surprises for deserving people or places. And it was doing very well for a young start-up, particularly as it had had lots of coverage in the media. Ceri had learned that Jade had kept the debacle over her surname out of the papers in the summer by promising interviews, which came to fruition in the autumn. People were fascinated about why she had ditched fame for a village in Wales and it led to queries from all over the UK.

  The business was a family venture: Ceri sourced the stuff and Dad, who was no longer Emlyn they were so close, drove the van, decorated with a logo of hands and hearts, created by Mel. Income mainly came from the corporate world: companies turned to her when they wanted to show their caring, sharing face by providing communities with sponsored rubbish bins, climbing frames and skate parks. Time-poor professionals who needed someone to deliver with the maximum patience and minimum brief used her for highly tailored showy gifts for husbands, wives and clients they wanted to woo. She’d also teamed up with a chain of coffee shops with a gift card that came with a free latte for the next customer.

  With small acts of kindness she barely covered her costs – but they were the ones that touched her most of all: the majority asking to remain anonymous so nobody felt they owed them. A cleaner to go to a friend who’d just had a baby and a dog walker for a poorly bed-bound dad. Hot meals delivered to a broken-armed granny and slippers for worn-out nurses. Waterproofs for lollipop ladies and tables for two for dinner ladies. A surprise cake for no special reason and a comedian for the old people’s home. Help yourself umbrellas in a newsagent, children’s toys for refuges, haircuts for the homeless, a weekly shop for a food bank, chews and biscuits for an animal shelter … the requests were wide-ranging, inventive and never-ending. And the feedback she received was priceless: customers felt good about giving and those on the receiving end would pass it forward, perhaps by buying someone else’s bus fare or picking up litter in the street.

  It was the best feel-good job on earth and it kept her going when she felt low, which was usually Rhodri-related. For he was the missing piece in her heart. She felt it every day, as if a limb was gone, hobbling when she thought she saw him on the sand or in the woods. His home was rented out to a quiet guy who’d taken over his job, securing recycling bins for Dwynwen which made Ceri choke with emotion sometimes. When she’d pass by Murmur Y Coed she’d have irrational butterflies that maybe, just maybe he’d come back and he’d leap out to surprise her. But hadn’t he made it clear he didn’t feel the same?

  Work had saved her when he’d walked away. It kept her going, smothering the pain with its daily demands. Her routine was basic – get up, work, eat, sleep. But she loved it. She still loved him too. Ceri called it her what-had-she-been-thinking confession the day before he went. If someone had said the same to her after finding a father and a sister, having been fooled by a conman ex-mate and chucking a massive career, she’d have run a mile too. They had spoken about it once – she’d said she was sorry for putting him on the spot but he’d just ummed and aahed, embarrassed. As for meeting someone else, he hadn’t ever brought it up. Ceri wasn’t interested in any other man – she didn’t have the time. She clung on to the hope he’d come back but she was convinced it was more of a case of if than when.

  His enthusiastic emails certainly suggested it. Over the weeks, he’d described early morning mist on the Baltic Sea while he cycled to work through modern and medieval streets; and sharing coffee and cinnamon rolls with his peers, as he soaked up the zero waste ethos. The nation’s mantra of lagom, or just enough, was reflected in the calm and tolerant people he’d met through his Swedish classes and choir. Outdoors was everything to him: he told how parents left their babies to sleep in their prams outside cafés in the open air and of lakes and hikes, snow and ice. A few curiosities made his brain ache – ketchup on pasta, paying double the rate for bread, state-run off-licences and having to book a slot in the apartment laundry room.

  But he was bowled over by the countryside and the don’t destroy, don’t disturb approach to the environment. Ceri had never had a desire to go to Sweden but all she felt was a burning yearning to be where he was and to be doing what he did – my God, she’d even replaced the bleach with eco cleaner. There was, however, no invite for her to visit – she couldn’t ask, he’d knocked her back once. Mel was devastated it had never happened between them because she thought Rhodri was secretly in love with her – but it was wishful thinking, he’d never said it and he’d gone, hadn’t he? His beaming Facebook photos of fairy-lit ice rinks, ice hotels and the Arctic Circle weren’t the images of a broken man, either. Thankfully, he hadn’t posted anything to do with any women – that hadn’t stopped her imagining him as part of a perfect Instagram couple, with some lean blonde Swede.

  Living alone in the Green House was the best of worlds: when Mel told her he’d been offered a rolling extension to his post, Ceri had been able to enthuse over it before going home to cry over Thomas, a rescue scrap of fluff christened with her father’s name because she wanted to stay a Price like her mum had been. Rhodri had come home for Christmas but Ceri had gone to Tash’s, who wanted to be in the new house – understandably, since it was their first one there, Ceri had thought. But it turned out to be for the entirely joyful reason that Tash needed access to her en suite for morning sickness.

  Ceri was glad to have had the excuse not to see him – because if she felt his pull when she saw his face in a photograph then how would she feel if he was there giving her a hug hello? The attraction she felt to him, the love he inspired in her hadn’t gone – it frightened her sometimes how deep it ran, taking her breath away if she heard someone say his name. That’s why she’d told Mason the charity guy that she wasn’t in the right place for their friendship. Even when her feelings for Rhodri were tucked away, they still managed to colour her experiences: like now, as she paid the toll and drove through a forested nature reserve, thinking how much he’d like it here.

  ‘This is it then,’ Ceri said, forcing her emotion back and remembering she had so many blessings to count, as she pulled into the car park, sending red squirrels scarpering. It was a cold crisp morning and they were the first here.

  ‘Oh … It’s just us,’ Mel observed.

  ‘Better than fighting the crowds, surely?’ It got very busy here this time of year, according to Ceri’s guidebook.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose … I sort of imagined it … differently, I did,’ Mel said, her breath steaming as she slammed the door.

  ‘How?’ Ceri said.

  ‘Dunno. Sort of more romantic.’ She sounded disappointed.

  ‘We’ll do the well, Mel,’ Carlos said, trying to cheer her, and it worked as she laughed at his unintended rhyme.

  He was talking about the test lovers could take at Dwynwen’s Well: if fish came to the surface, it was proof a relationship would last. Ceri remembered Rhodri telling her about it in the car all those months ago. There he was again, on her shoulder, and she had to stick on her sunglasses to stop her eyes from watering in public. They set off on the sandy footpath, their shadows long as the sun was still low, whooping as they came across the dunes of the beach. But when they emerged onto the stunning sweep of gold they were silenced by the expanse of the clear and sparkling Menai Strait, Snowdonia’s mountains on the horizon to the right and the hump of Llanddwyn to the left.

  There was no wind, thank goodness, but they still had to march to keep warm, pointing out coves and seabirds as they went. Low tide meant the island was a causeway resembling a finger of land and they went in single file on a winding dirt pathway trodden into the rocks, all the while looking around to take in the majesty of the surroundings, where darting bunnies played on the scrub beneath a sky so vast and blue it could’ve been a reflection of the calm sea. Ceri hadn’t expected to sense any
spirituality, and it may have been the freezing weather, but she was tingling, touched by a presence of something – perhaps the eternity of hope and love and kindness?

  Maybe it was because she identified with Dwynwen, who’d had her heart broken and then devoted her life to love without any more participation. For here was where pilgrims had trekked over the centuries, where lovers had come to seek the saint’s blessing. At the highest spot, they saw a large stone Celtic cross, which had a plaque recording her death on 25 January in the year 465. They all scratched their heads in wonderment at the ancient land beneath their feet.

  Beyond was an old white lighthouse on the tip of the peninsula and to one side, what Ceri had come to see: the weathered ruins of the church of St Dwynwen. Her heart quickened, she took off her shades and she gave her guidebook to Mel and left them, clambering down the rocky outcrop so she could pay her respects to the Welsh patron of love. It was incomprehensible this tiny spot had been so important so long ago. Yet the stone was still standing, crumbling but defiant: the rectangle of remains was a lesson to keep the faith.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, reaching out to touch the only complete section of wall left standing, its carved window framing a magnificent view of the sea. Without you, she thought, welling up, I’d have been forever lost. But you gave me a chance to find myself, my father and my family.

  Then in her mind, as ever, she could hear Rhodri’s voice, reading aloud the words from her guidebook. ‘Llanddwyn had been so rich in Tudor times that a church was built in the sixteenth century on the site of the original convent …’ It was as if he was here beside her and she covered her face to imagine he really was. Warm arms came from behind and held her, rocking her from side to side and she wished for it to be true as she opened her eyes – and … no frigging way … she felt his cheek on hers. What the flaming hell? What was going on? He was here, her body screamed. But it couldn’t be – he was in Sweden. More than one thousand and three miles away. Except, inexplicably, he wasn’t. No, no, refusing to believe it, she ran through her senses, feeling his soft touch, smelling his natural scent, then actually seeing his hands round her chest. He was physically here! And he was hugging her and she was spinning around, grabbing onto his arms and his waist because she feared he’d disappear if she let go. He was real – he was flesh and bones and she was gasping and laughing and so was he, his wonderful smile as wide as his shoulders.

  ‘What the flip are you doing here?’ she said, taking him in from the top, starting with his Nordic knitted blue bobble hat, tufts of brown hair, melted chocolate eyes, bold nose and lovely big lips. And what was that on his face? Only a bushy ginger beard! ‘I thought I was going mad! Rhodri! What … how come … Jesus!’

  He unzipped his sub-zero puffer jacket and wiped his brow as if he was in the tropics.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to get down to my pants like last time. I’ve come home. I can’t stay away. The Six Nations starts next week. I’ve so much to bring to recycling here. And while the webcam was brilliant, it’s no substitute for the real thing.’

  ‘What?’ She was flummoxed by his rambling – she needed clarity because mingled with her joy was the wariness of self-preservation. If she assumed what she was starting to, if a bloke turned up out of nowhere without warning and had his arms round you, and it didn’t turn out to be for love … it made her shudder with fear.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, seeing her expression darkening, ‘I’m here because I had to know … do you still feel the same?’

  He was searching her eyes for an answer but she was reeling and afraid.

  ‘Your beard,’ she said, holding her own hands to her face like an idiot. But it was the shock.

  ‘It’s like a woolly hat but for my face. A face hat.’ Now he was gulping.

  Oh, this was classic. This reminded her of the fumbling bumbling mess on the beach when she’d told him she loved him. Stick to the facts, she thought, avoid the feelings. Give yourself some time to get your head together.

  ‘How did you get here?’ she asked, her heartbeat thumping.

  ‘I flew in this morning to Manchester. I got a cab.’

  ‘A cab? All the way here? What about you carbon footprint?’ This was very unlike him, she thought, wondering what would have prompted such a betrayal of his values.

  ‘I don’t care about that! I’ll plant some trees or something,’ he said casually as if he wasn’t even bothered. It was so out of character. ‘Look, listen, I was supposed to be in the car park when you got there. But we hit traffic.’ Okay, she could process that, he had a rucksack by his feet. Next question.

  ‘How did you know I would be here?’

  ‘Mel. She told me. As an act of kindness. To surprise you.’ That explained her disappointment they were the only ones in the car park! No wonder Mel was near-wetting herself on the way and she’d wanted to leave the front seat empty. Ceri looked for her and there she was … apparently in the middle of a row with Carlos. Oh no, it was all going weird.

  ‘I don’t get this,’ she said, crossing her arms. Rhodri nodded and put out one hand for her then the other but still she couldn’t surrender.

  He scruffed up his hair and took a breath and began to explain. ‘I’m here, Ceri, because that day when you told me you loved me, I was too scared to admit I felt the same. That I’d fallen for you from the day I met you … actually, no it wasn’t that day, it was the day you came to my recycling course and you took the piss out of me, that was when I fell for you.’

  Her lips twitched as she dared to hope he wouldn’t stop there.

  ‘I didn’t doubt you meant it but I needed to see if it was proper and true because I’d have jumped in with both size twelves without a life jacket in my pyjamas, like the swimming life-saving badge, if you remember it?’

  Ceri began to believe him now and her eyes became wet with love – and the teensiest bit of hilarity at the way he kept going off the subject.

  ‘What if it had been a flash in the pan for you and I’d missed out on Sweden?’

  Tears were rolling now and she was in danger of blowing nose bubbles. He moved closer to her and they held hands. But suddenly his eyes had shifted to the right just when the moment was coming. Oh God, no, please don’t say I’ve read this wrong. That he was about to say he’d tried to feel it still but it was no good.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ceri …’

  She dropped her chin – hope hadn’t killed her, it’d strung her up by the short and curlies.

  ‘… there’s a crisp wrapper by there and I can’t just leave it.’

  She looked up and, of course, he’d only wanted to pick up some rubbish! Relief swept through her and she surged with joy that this was him to a tee.

  ‘Do you mind? We could go together, walk sideways like crabs if you like, still holding hands?’

  ‘No,’ she said, pinching herself so she didn’t hoot. ‘It’s fine, you go.’

  He was back with her in seconds and resumed his position.

  ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, I’d wondered if time and absence would make it fizzle out for you. But then when I didn’t see you at Christmas it got even more intense for me. Mel said I should tell you how I feel. And she didn’t even say if you’d moved on or not. I told her I didn’t want to know because it wasn’t fair on her to have to reveal sisterly things … so I’m here and I want to know if you feel the same … because … Ceri,’ he said, heaving, ‘caru ti.’

  Her heart exploded in her breast. ‘I love you too, Rhodri, from your sticky-out ears to your cycling helmet, from your—’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, interrupting, ‘not to be rude, and I’m aware this is rich coming from a windbag like myself, but I can’t wait any longer.’

  And then he kissed her and she kissed him back and they kissed and kissed at first tenderly and then with passion until they were breathless and she was dizzy and he
r face was smarting from his beard. Their eyes were heavy with lust and love and amazement that this was really happening. As if St Dwynwen had planned it all along.

  ‘Do you want to see the well?’ Rhodri finally asked.

  ‘I dunno. I suppose we should get going really …’ The sun was higher and they had to think about heading back if she didn’t want to drive in the dark.

  ‘Good choice. Because that’s why Mel was shouting at Carlos. She said he’d swished the water with his hand to make it look as if the fish had come up to prove he was faithful.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Ceri said, squinting at them now as they waited, holding hands, ‘it looks like they’ve made up.’ She grinned and beckoned to them, reaching for Rhodri’s hand herself in case Mel was in any doubt her plan had backfired. Mel cheered her delight.

  ‘Come on!’ Ceri said to them all, elated and jumping, finally letting herself trust again. ‘Let’s go. It’s a long journey and we’ve got a big weekend lined up.’

  Rhodri kissed her nose and put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Take me home, Ceri,’ he said, his eyes shining with happiness. ‘Take me home to the Village of Love.’

  That village on the edge of Wales where, almost a year ago, it’d felt like the end of the world.

  But as Ceri nestled into Rhodri on their way across the beach, she didn’t see Dwynwen as the final stop – instead, it was the start of a new beginning.