by James Goss
The whole world seemed awful. Even the stink thistles were drooping their heads glumly.
Never before had that grim little caravan seemed like home. But it seemed safe, a refuge. Gwen flopped down in that horrible chair and started to feed Anwen, fussing over her socks, and changing her little baby T-shirt over and over again. She didn’t seem to be listening to me.
‘Right.’ I’d had enough. ‘Come on, we’re packing up and we’re getting out of here. Right now.’
‘No.’ Gwen didn’t look up from the baby. In the old days, her voice would have been firm, loud and spoiling for a fight. Now it was just hollow and deeply tired.
‘Are you kidding?’ I yelled.
Gwen pressed a hand to her head. ‘Just put the kettle on, love.’
I boiled the kettle.
We sat and had tea.
After a while, Gwen broke the silence. ‘I’d kill for something stronger.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed.
We sipped our tea and watched the rain.
I stood up, trotted over to the kitchen drawer and pulled out the sheaf of takeaway menus we’d miraculously acquired. ‘I’m getting us a pizza and some beer,’ I said.
Gwen made that ‘ooh’ noise she used to make when she’d soak her feet after a day on the beat. I switched my mobile on. For once, the tiniest bit of signal. I rang one firm. Then another. Then I started to shout.
‘What is the point in giving us the bloody leaflets if you don’t deliver?’ A pause. ‘I see. Well, yes, but I’ve had a really bad day and I don’t feel like coming in to collect it. No. No. Thank you.’ And I might have shouted some more. But I’m leaving that out.
I slammed down the phone. Well, you can’t really slam a mobile. I kind of tossed it across the counter. But not too hard. Didn’t want to break it. Not when we were about an hour’s drive from the nearest greasy-child-in-a-tie phone store.
‘Lovely,’ said Gwen. ‘I’m trapped in a caravan with two babies.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I told her. ‘I’ll pop to the petrol station and get us something.’
‘No.’ Gwen grabbed my hand, needy. Gwen was never needy. ‘Don’t. Please don’t leave me.’
I looked at her.
‘Oh god, love.’ I wrapped her in a hug. As much of a hug as was possible without squeezing our baby into jam.
‘This feels so good,’ she laughed. ‘Like old times.’
‘Yeah,’ I breathed. ‘You OK?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘I won’t ever let you go.’
‘Actually, you’d better,’ sighed Gwen. ‘Anwen’s just sicked up something.’
‘Right.’
Cleaned and tidied and with two tins of spaghetti on the go, we looked at each other.
‘I was nearly…’ Gwen swallowed. ‘No, not using the word.’
‘What are we going to do about it?’
‘We can hardly call the police, can we, now?’
‘Good point. I can go round there later and…’
‘No,’ said Gwen.
I shook my head. I felt so outraged. So furious and sick. Still. I checked my hand. It was shaking. God knew how Gwen was coping.
‘Right then,’ I said. ‘Well at least we know why Ianto had keys to this place. Is there any escape from your old life? From bloody Torchwood?’
‘No,’ admitted Gwen. ‘We just keep moving.’
‘Is that what we do, then? We move on? Pack up tonight, pick another key and pray?’
‘It could be worse.’
‘OK,’ I sighed. ‘I’ll pack after we’ve had hoops.’
‘No.’ Gwen’s eyes were wide. ‘I meant the next place could be worse. Worse than this one. If Torchwood had keys to these places it means there’s unfinished business in all of them. I think we should stay.’
‘But…’ I protested, ‘this place is so sad.’
‘Yeah,’ sighed Gwen. ‘Yes it is.’ She brightened. ‘Let’s find out why.’
Gwen
We talked what we were going to do about it for a bit, in between spooning hoops from the bowl and feeding and changing Anwen. We talked until I could feel my eyelids snapping shut.
All those little hints of my old life that I’d never get away from. I could outrun Men in Black, but not my past. I wondered how fair it was to drag Rhys along with me. That nice, sexy bloke I’d met once, so very long ago. In those days it was spaghetti bolognese, cooked from scratch with ingredients sourced from only the finest 24-hour shop. Now two sad little value tins tipped into a saucepan decorated with rustic hens was all we had time for.
I watched him stirring the thin sauce dourly, my sexy man who hated being put on hold and loved things that ran on time. Who liked order, routine, beer and predictability. I’d taken all that from him, piece by piece. Here we were, in the middle of bloody nowhere. None of his old friends to talk to, not Banana Boat or Lottery Dave. No one.
Just me. And the child. And neither of us were great company.
Oh, Rhys, what have I done to you? You can take the man out of the fun, but can you take the fun out of the man? Looks like I’ve tried bloody hard.
Just me. I’ve left so much behind. All those friends of mine. The girls I’d go out on the lash with. Ianto. Tosh. Owen. Jack. Andy. They say it happens when you get pregnant – you stop meeting up with people quite so much. You give up your friends along with the booze except for the odd not-taking-it-too-seriously-glass. In your head you’re thinking that, once you’ve had the baby, it’ll all be back to normal. In a bit. Honest.
I’d been expecting we’d just spend a bit too much time alone in the flat, or breastfeeding over tea in John Lewis. Not that we’d be trapped in a caravan park. With our friends dead or millions of light years away. And us utterly unable to escape.
I saw Constable Tony Brown’s face pressing down on me. I shook my head. No. Not yet, Gwen love. Not yet.
I thought of all the things Mrs Harries had said. Rhys and I argued them back and forth. All those hints and clues of my old life – those bloody odd kids. What were they? What were we going to do? What about that mention of a man in a military greatcoat? There was only one person that could be… Surely?
‘There’s a thing we’ve forgotten.’ Rhys had adopted that ‘seriously’ tone he sometimes used. Normally before suggesting we redecorate or try a detox.
‘Oh yes?’ I was guarded.
‘They talked about an abandoned airbase.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I see what you mean.’
His face lit up. ‘Glad you do. I’ve no bloody idea what it means, just that… that it sounds…’
‘It does, doesn’t it?’ I agreed. ‘Like a sore thumb.’
I yawned. ‘But I’m dead on my arse. I am flat-out knackered. I would kill for two hours’ sleep.’
Rhys chuckled. ‘If you could only hear yourself.’
‘Oh, I know. I know.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Listen to us. Trying to solve a mystery when I’m too tired to even open a jar. Talking of which, better bring over the expresso bongo. Let’s top up madam’s milk supply so you can feed her while I crash.’
So much to do these days before you go to sleep. In the old days it’d be throw your keys down, grab a glass of water as you flung your shoes off into the far corners and then fall onto your pillow. Not now. Now it was like I had a to-do list so long I may as well have given up on ever getting it done.
So there I was, yawning helplessly, with the expresser pump clamped to a breast when there was a knock at the door.
‘Oh god,’ I thought sickly. Let it not be bloody Tony Brown.
‘I’ll get it.’ Rhys managed a tone that was both firm and warning. My hero.
He went to open the door.
Rhys
I opened the door. Tom and Josh stood there in the rain, both wearing bright yellow windcheaters. They looked like wet Teletubbies.
‘Hello,’ said Tom. ‘Megan Harries gave us a call. Can we come in?’
‘We’ve brought beer,�
�� smiled Josh. ‘And pizza.’
‘Let ’em in,’ yelled Gwen.
They came in and sat down, and suddenly our little mobile home felt crowded.
They did all the right things. They asked Gwen how she was and didn’t take her first reply as an answer. They fussed around. Redheaded Tom tidied the kitchen a bit, rinsed out the tins, served up the pizza and made loud chit-chat. Josh played with Anwen.
Josh pushed the steaming box of pizza at Gwen. Tom curled up next to him, letting Josh do all the talking while he did the eating. That’s pretty much how it is in most relationships. There’s always an eater.
Gwen picked away at a slice.
‘Oh go on.’ Josh frowned at her. ‘It’s safe. It’s covered in prawns, stilton and peanuts.’
‘Sod off,’ laughed Gwen, and wolfed down a slice. She sipped a little of my beer and belched.
‘Gwen!’ I protested, secretly delighted at how much happier she seemed.
‘Sod off too,’ she growled. ‘I’ve had a bloody awful day.’
‘So,’ I said. I had to reassert my authority. ‘What are we going to do about the assault?’
Josh blinked. I suddenly got it. I understood Rawbone. It was a place where no one ever called a spade a spade. That’s how it got by. It made compromises, avoided any awkward words, never quite met anyone in the eye. Even, let’s face it, Josh and Tom. I’m fairly sure they’d never actually said they were your actual gays. They’d never even used the word, or any word – ‘partner’, ‘other half’. I got the feeling it was just another issue for the whole village to dodge. Maybe they referred to each other as ‘friends’ with just the tiniest of pauses. A whole village of small domestic secrets. It seemed like the perfect place to come when you were on the run.
‘Come on, mate,’ I pressed on. ‘What do we do?’
Josh shifted uncomfortably. ‘I shouldn’t worry about it.’
Tom glanced at him then, sharply, but I’d already started shouting.
Anwen made a noise, so I stopped shouting. In the uneasy, snuffling silence, Gwen reached out, pointing the tip of her pizza at Josh. ‘Ignore him. Why shouldn’t we worry about it?’
‘This village…’ said Josh. ‘It’s not normal. You must know that by now. It’ll be taken care of.’
‘I see,’ Gwen nodded. ‘You know there’s something not right about the village, don’t you?’
‘How could we not?’ laughed Josh. ‘We bloody live here.’
Tom looked like he was about to say something, and then reached for another slice of pizza. There was already sauce on his T-shirt and a bit of onion on the carpet. Josh, however, remained immaculate, picking away at a single slice.
‘What made you move here?’ asked Gwen.
‘Oh, work.’ Tom shrugged. ‘You know how it is.’
‘But,’ pressed Gwen, and I realised that she was still sixty-seven per cent copper, ‘you know about the children, don’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ Tom stared glumly at his pizza.
‘None of our business.’ Josh smiled. It was an interesting smile. You know when you’re off to see your GP and they’re leafing through their paperwork and they flash you a smile before they tell you there’s nothing particular to worry about, but… Or you’re getting the car MOT’d and the man at the garage wipes his oily hands down on his overalls and then smiles before he breaks the bad news… That kind of smile. Like he didn’t want to be drawn into a long discussion of the particulars. ‘Seriously, why should we care about kids? They’re not even sexy, not even in a Tom Daley Wrong way.’
Gwen blinked.
‘What? Oh, he is,’ continued Josh. ‘We’ve got a cat. That’s enough. Kids are horrible things. No offence.’
‘None taken,’ I said, pulling away at the bottle of beer. It felt bloody gorgeous.
‘I mean, I’m sure yours is great,’ Tom covered, pointlessly and nervously.
‘But…’ Gwen again, not letting the original subject go. ‘The children. The children here are wrong.’
‘Aren’t they?’ said Josh. ‘But it’s not our business. It really isn’t. If it makes everyone else here happy. If it lets them get on with their lives… who are we to interfere?’
Tom nodded.
‘Live and let live, eh?’ Josh trotted out that smile again. ‘I mean, it has its advantages. They don’t seem that fussed about having an Indian hairdresser living in town. And no one is asking what the two of you are doing here. As I said, it has its advantages.’
BANG. Payload dropped. The gentlest of threats. Don’t rock the boat. Please don’t rock the boat.
Then Tom pushed another bottle of beer across the table towards Gwen. All friends again.
‘Hey,’ Gwen protested. ‘I’ve only drunk half and I’m tiddly.’
‘Get tiddlier.’ Josh pressed the bottle on Gwen. ‘We’d have brought gin, but isn’t that wrong for mums?’
‘Trust me,’ sighed Gwen. ‘You’d be about nine months late with that one. And don’t worry – everything is wrong for mums. Thanks, by the way.’
‘For what?’ asked Josh. ‘It was Tom’s idea.’ Tom looked uncomfortable at that, but Josh pressed on: ‘For coming over in your hour of need?’
‘No.’ Gwen swigged at the beer. ‘For not offering me advice on breastfeeding.’
‘Ah well,’ said Tom. ‘We don’t care. Everyone else though… everyone’s very pleased. Fascinated. And they’ve all got an opinion.’
‘Everyone has,’ sighed Gwen. ‘I think it’s worse here than it would be in Cardiff. There it’d be, “And when you gonna have another one, Gwen dear?”’
‘We’re not having another baby, are we?’ I asked, suddenly alarmed.
‘Trust me –’ Gwen narrowed her eyes – ‘it’ll be a long time before I let you near me again, Rhys Williams.’
And everyone laughed. Everyone else laughed.
We sat, talking and giggling, and suddenly life didn’t seem so miserable. It felt normal and easy again. True, Anwen woke up a couple of times and had to be changed once, but it was almost like… normal life.
But ticking away, underneath it all, were Josh’s guarded smile and Gwen’s brain. Someone had switched it to ‘investigation’, and away it was going.
‘So,’ she said, all wide-eyed and casual, ‘someone said something about there being an airbase. Which means lots of nice men in uniform, doesn’t it? Do you two boys know anything about it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Josh, playing his card. ‘Tom works there.’
Oh.
Gwen
I stared at Tom. Hard. He swallowed. The slice of pizza hung limp in his hand.
‘You work there?’
He giggled, nervously, and ran a hand through his tightly curled red hair. ‘Well, it’s not actually an airbase as such. It’s really a Weather Monitoring Station.’
‘Right,’ I said dourly.
Rhys guffawed.
Josh smirked.
‘Stop it!’ protested Tom. ‘It really is! It does monitor the weather.’
‘It’s Wales,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s raining. What do you do with the rest of the day?’
Tom muttered very quietly.
‘He really can’t say,’ whispered Josh, holding a finger to his lips. ‘Even I don’t know exactly. Not that it’s top secret. Oh no. Although if it were, he wouldn’t be able to say that.’
‘Shaddup,’ growled Tom, kicking him. ‘I’m a meteorologist. Really.’
‘He really is.’ Josh leaned forward and helped himself to another beer.
I joined in the laughter. ‘Yeah, but come on… It’s got to be a military base of some kind?’
‘It is a monitoring station,’ repeated Tom.
‘Monitoring the kids?’ I asked.
Tom wouldn’t say any more. He was clearly hiding something. But that was all I was going to get out of them. For the moment. There was that little tell-tale feeling in the air, like there was more to come. I’d get it out of them, sooner or later.
/> We drank some more, finished the pizza and then Josh stood up. ‘Right, this is where we love you and leave you.’ He yawned. ‘We’re walking home through the rain. You guys can get some top-notch zizzing in.’
As he stepped out into the rain, Tom murmured, ‘Hope you’re feeling a bit better.’
I shrugged. I didn’t really know. I said I’d be fine.
They walked away. I leaned on Rhys. ‘I’ve had two whole bottles of beer,’ I giggled. ‘I feel all warm and squidgy.’
‘Hey-ho,’ he sighed. ‘I married a lightweight.’
‘Has its advantages,’ I said.
‘Oh. Right.’
In the middle of the night, Rhys got out of bed to feed the baby. He was gone a long time, and I missed him.
I dreamed again. I dreamed I was in a big grey building surrounded by body bags, all of them a strange, cheery shade of red.
I crossed the hall, my footsteps echoing on the lino, marked out for ball games. They led me, not quite at gunpoint, towards two body bags.
My friends, Jack and Ianto, had died trying to save us all.
I unzipped the bags and looked at their faces, oddly alike in death. Both of them looked strangely peaceful, as though glad of a rest.
But I knew that at any moment, one of them was going to wake up. Jack Harkness would sit bolt upright, gasping for air. For a moment, he’d smile, relieved to see me, and then he’d remember, remember that Ianto was never going to open his eyes again.
Then we’d realise we had no idea what to say, so we’d just hold each other, looking down at the body of Ianto Jones, lying there in that great big grim sports hall.
Only this time, in the dream, I waited ever such a long while and neither of them came back to life.
Rhys
I stood in the road throwing stones at the police station. I was angry. I was also feeling a little stupid. It was a tiny little building – like a suburban two-up-two-down, with a cop shop in the living room and a small flat upstairs. I’d tried hammering on the door. I didn’t really know why I was there, but I did know that I wanted to hit PC Tony Brown quite a lot until I stopped shaking.