by James Goss
But in order to get to the pub… you had to pass the village green. You had to pass Davydd’s house. You had to pass the kids. Standing there, surrounded by a thick field of those dreadful flowers.
They looked like an art installation. If you thought of them like that, it helped. Not as nearly people but as statues that made it somehow manageable. The worst thing was their eyes. They were open, wide open but not looking. You know when someone says of a statue, ‘Its eyes follow you around the room’? Well, it was exactly the opposite with the Scions. They weren’t watching us. They didn’t care.
At the same time it was obvious that they were waiting for instructions. For orders. For something. Maybe just for someone to make the wrong move.
They weren’t alone. A couple of their mothers were sat on a bench. Crying. Mrs Meredith had bought along a thermos flask and sandwiches. Megan Harries went over to them.
There was an odd atmosphere inside the pub. Tense, with that odd sweaty tang to the air – it wasn’t that the place was open early; it was that it hadn’t shut. Everyone had just gone there to drink and mutter and speculate. At first to get in out of the cold, to steady the nerves… and now they were hiding. Someone had even turned on a sports channel that no one was really watching.
I made for the bar. Gwen made for the centre of the room.
‘Hey!’ she said. Bright smile, police training leaching through. ‘Good morning.’
Not much of a reaction. If we don’t look at her, perhaps she’ll sit down and shut the hell up.
The smile got a bit brighter. Bit steelier. ‘Where’s Davydd?’ she asked. A pause. ‘Well?’
The sound of a pint glass sliding across a table. A head looked up. ‘Out the back,’ rumbled a voice. ‘Having a kip.’
‘How is he?’
A bit of a snarl, some muttering. A ‘How do you think?’ But she had their attention. So Gwen seized it. She spoke, a wonderful rallying address. She won them over and she…
Oh, who am I kidding? Sorry. I wasn’t listening. You see…
I was stood at the bar sizing up a packet of prawn cocktail when a hand landed on my shoulder.
‘Well, look who it isn’t,’ cooed Nerys.
She was done up to 11.
‘Morning,’ I said. ‘Not gone to work, then?’
She shook her head. ‘Not likely. Staying around to see if I can help in any way.’ She paused, and her glossy lips spread out. ‘Plus the bus never turned up today.’ She reached down to Anwen, slumbering in my papoose and waved a bejewelled finger in front of her.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
She snorted. ‘You kidding? I’m bloody glad I never had anything to do with those things. Oh my god… you should have seen what they did. They’re still out there now, aren’t they? It makes it dead creepy whenever you nip out for a fag. I’m asking Paddy if we can just smoke in here.’ She shuddered. ‘I mean, it’d make sense. And it is an emergency.’
I made a non-committal noise. For some reason there wasn’t that much room at the bar. I mean, Nerys was standing ever so close.
‘What about you, pet?’ she asked. ‘You OK? What brings you here?’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘My wife wants to go see that everything’s OK at the Weather Station.’
‘Frankenstein’s Castle?’ Nerys laughed, tossing out her hair and dabbing at the salted innards of a crisps packet with a finger. ‘Riiiight.’
‘Oh, don’t,’ I said, feeling awkward and silly. ‘What’s it like up there?’
‘Never been,’ she said. ‘It’s full of science. We all steer clear of it, you know.’ She sighed. ‘Doesn’t interest me at all.’ Then she hopped onto a bar stool, her legs swinging against mine. I felt a bit odd, to be frank. She was looking at me and smiling. ‘But you do interest me.’
Blimey.
Gwen was still talking. I tried to listen to her, but Nerys was still there. She’d stopped kicking me gently and instead one of her shoes was RUBBING my leg. I looked back at her and she smiled at me. I was suddenly very conscious of the whole thing. No one had ever played footsie with me while I had a baby on my shoulder before. Mind you, people always say you should try new things.
Sudden barman. Guess I’d closed my eyes for a second. ‘What are you having, mate?’
Nerys leaned forward. ‘Yes, Rhys, what are you having?’
Er. I wondered about a cheeky pint. It was, after all, a bit of an emergency.
‘Go on,’ cooed Nerys. ‘Be a devil.’
Christ, love, I thought, do you ever turn it down a bit?
‘Yeah, pint of Druid’s Ruin,’ I said. ‘Have one yourself, Paddy,’ I continued, and then faltered – I’d not offered to get Nerys a drink. Best not give the wrong impression, eh? So she leaned forward, cleavage straining against her top. ‘I’ll have a JD and coke, thanks, love,’ she purred.
I watched the beer fill up the pint and something inside me went ‘aaah’. Truth. Being chatted up by Nerys – kind of awkward, and a bit odd, really. But the idea of having a drink before noon. Actually, scrub that, the idea of having a drink. You have a baby… well, monks have more of a laugh.
I picked up the pint and turned back to the room. Gwen was still talking, chatting, arguing, making her point, making small talk. It was all very good. She cares. She loves. She’s brilliant. She’s winning them all over. Then she saw something. And she stopped. Her smile was still in place. Still bright. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave it all up to you… it’s quite important. Back in a moment.’
What had she seen? I thought. Then realised that Nerys was leaning on my shoulder. How had I not noticed that? I took a thoughtful sip of my pint.
Gwen floated towards us across the sticky black carpet like an avenging Boudicca. From nought to in-my-face in under three seconds. Impressive.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
It had been quite some time since I’d been caught up in a cat fight. Actually, it’d been ever such a long time since two women fought over me. In fact, it’d really been ages since I’d felt… special. I’m just Rhys. Hold the baby, boil the kettle, there’s a love.
‘Just having a pint, checking Anwen for wind,’ I began.
Nerys slipped smoothly off her bar stool and squared up to Gwen.
Sometimes on a Friday night in the centre of Cardiff you’d see Valley Girls go for it. I’m amazed there wasn’t a show about the Battle of St Mary Street on telly. Handbags and hair extensions and zambucca slammers and… and the men all standing back. Nearly ironed white shirts, nervous expressions. We’re not stupid. We just know when to hang fire and keep our distance.
Oddly, right then, I was feeling quite nostalgic for Cardiff.
I noticed that Gwen wasn’t engaging with Nerys. She was still eyeballing me. ‘Oh?’
It turned out, Nerys was not to be ignored. ‘No offence, but –’ she stepped forward – ‘you screaming at him in front of your baby?’
That did it. Gwen reached critical mass. ‘And what about you, luv? This is a bloody crisis and you’re busy feeling up my husband.’
Interesting moment. A minute earlier, Gwen had been the centre of a charm offensive. Now she was… I dunno. World War Three with good hair?
Nerys shook her head. No, scrap that. She shook her whole self. Not epileptic, more a dog coming out of the sea. She opened her mouth ready to roar, and I caught a blast of her breath. She’d clearly been drinking for hours. ‘A crisis, is it? And what do you think you can do about it, eh?’
‘A hell of a lot more than hide in here getting lashed,’ cried Gwen. ‘Those children —’
‘Are Mental.’ Nerys was using fingernails as punctuation. ‘They are Bloody Mental. That’s what they are. I always thought so. S’why I’d never have one. You lot, you’re all just too damn desperate.’ She was now addressing the whole room, and thundering like the PA system at Glasto. ‘Take in one of those things? No thanks. You all did, and now you’re hiding in here, scared stiff of them. Let’s face it. In a few m
inutes they’ll get bored of waiting and they’ll come in here to finish us off, you mark my words. So, Supermum, too bloody right I am just gonna get pissed and crack on to the only fit bloke around here. Rhys is well lush, and you treat him like…’
‘Steady on,’ I said. I’d got the compliment. Shut it down now.
Nerys blinked. But didn’t stop. ‘Listen, Gwen bach, what is it that gives you a right to lecture us all on how to deal with this?’
There was some murmuring at this. Gwen looked startled.
‘Listen,’ she began, but Nerys wasn’t giving her a turn.
‘You think you’re better than us cos you’ve popped out a sprog? In the land of the blind, and all that, is it?’
‘No!’ shouted Gwen. ‘No, believe me…’ She was suddenly appealing to the entire pub. Her voice cracked. ‘Listen to me. Before I came here, I had… considerable experience of this kind of thing. I worked for an organisation. We dealt with stuff like this.’
‘Look’ retorted Nerys, ‘You could be bloody Catwoman, but right now you look knackered and one of your tits is leaking.’
‘Oh.’ Gwen blushed. She looked down. There was, it is true, the tiniest… listen, occupational hazard with breastfeeding. Frankly, I’m surprised I’m not producing milk by this stage. ‘Damn,’ cursed Gwen under her breath.
Nerys flung back her head and laughed. Wait, that makes her sound like a Bond villain. And, I suppose, in her own tiny way, in her own corner of a shitty little pub in a forgotten corner of North Wales, she was.
Gwen had shot at alien fleets, she’d faced down forgotten gods, and saved my life. Actually, genuinely saved my life. Rather than just having a spare extra strong mint in a moment of need.
But she had, right now, been beaten by Nerys. A woman who probably knew what a vejazzle was.
Gwen ran out of the pub.
‘Sorry, gotta go,’ I explained to Nerys. ‘It’s in the job description.’
Gwen was sat on one of those picnic tables that they set up outside pubs. It was covered in dew and cigarette butts were swimming in an ashtray pond.
‘Hey,’ I said.
‘Don’t.’
‘I really wasn’t…’
‘Don’t.’
‘OK.’
Her hands raked through her hair, grabbed two hunks and twisted them around her fists. ‘I just needed you to support me.’
At this point, fellas, please note, there is only one thing to say. It is not ‘Well…’
‘What?’ Gwen stared at me.
‘Those kids,’ I said, as brave as Indiana Jones tiptoeing across a rope bridge. ‘I know you want to go to the Weather Station, but those kids…’ I gestured across the scrub of land that had been the village green. It was now covered in those strange plants, their heady scent pungent on the wind. At the other end, swirled in mist, stood about a dozen neatly dressed teenage statues. ‘Someone should keep an eye on them. I know… Nerys – well, she’s right. They’re not going to stand there for ever. I’m going to try and stop them. I’ve got to.’
‘OK.’ There are ways of saying OK. It’s a danger phrase in a relationship, along with ‘fine’ and ‘I’m just phoning your mum for a chat’. Right now Gwen said ‘OK’ like she’d run a marathon on broken glass and was about to cook Christmas lunch. She looked so tired and so miserable.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I really don’t agree with you. I mean, can’t we just… you know… divide our forces?’
Gwen held up a hand. Not listening. ‘Whatever,’ she said, quietly.
We just stood there for a second. I wanted to hug her. I reached out. We looked at each other.
Anwen woke up, loudly.
Gwen took her off me. ‘I’ll just feed her, then I’ll be off. You go back into your pub. Just go, Rhys.’
And she wandered away into the mist.
I went back into the pub.
Eloise
Hiya
Hope you’ve had time to take on board our earlier feedback about the Cuts and cycle it into your workflow as rapidly as we’d all like. I’m afraid projects are being lined up and shot down wholesale rather than salami-sliced, and I’m sure you’re working your hardest to deliver some clear deliverables ahead of the current direction of travel.
Small thing. Just wondering how Phase 2 is going downstream at the coalface? I’ve been checking the shared folder and there’s no progress report unless I’m missing it. Thought we’d agreed you’d email something over asap. Guessing you must be too rushed off your feet with stuff, so I’ll prioritise getting someone in to work alongside you.
Looking forward to hearing from you!
xJasx
Sebastian II smirked. ‘Does she always address you like that?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘What a bitch,’ he laughed.
I blinked. ‘Perhaps I should just…’ I began, but his hand landed on mine.
‘No,’ he said, firmly. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘But…’
He arched an eyebrow and his expression was ironic. Like a Boden catalogue model who knew something you didn’t.
‘What are you going to tell her, Eloise?’
‘Well…’
Tom came in. ‘Yes, what are you going to tell her?’ Tom looked a mess. His hair had unwound like pencil shavings and there was jam on his shirt. His face looked tired. Jeez, if he looked like that, what must I look like? Probably best not to ask. Mind you, Tom mostly looked furious. ‘Go on,’ he snapped. ‘What are you going to say? Have you seen the reports of what’s happened in the village? What they did to Sasha? Your children are out of control.’
Sebastian turned his perfect face on Tom. ‘There you are wrong. They are under my control.’
Tom broke, slapping his coffee mug down on the desk. ‘You ordered them to… kill…?’
Sebastian nodded. ‘She had harmed one of us. So I ordered reprisals.’
‘What’s happened to you?’ Tom yelled. ‘You look different…’
Sebastian’s hand grabbed Tom’s wrist. It wasn’t crushing it, or aggressive. Nor was it particularly forceful. But I could tell that Tom was… if not in pain… then at least in quite a lot of discomfort if he moved at all. He froze, trembling slightly.
‘The Scions are under new management,’ Sebastian said simply. ‘I have had a change of mind.’
‘Oh my god,’ groaned Tom, staring hard at the figure standing over him. So young and so cruel. ‘This isn’t Sebastian, is it?’
I shook my head, ashamed to admit it. ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s the new version.’
Tom stared at Sebastian with fear. A fear that Sebastian recognised and grinned at. ‘Eloise is really very clever. Things have moved on in four decades. The understanding of how to programme the Juniper Tree has improved considerably. I am a much better leader. A stronger soldier. I am much more effective.’
‘Right,’ sneered Tom. ‘And you boiled a woman to death.’
‘A fair and just reprisal,’ said Sebastian. ‘We will not be hurt, not by anyone.’ His hand twitched slightly, and Tom fell to the floor, clutching his arm and screaming.
Sometimes you realise when you’ve made a dreadful mistake and you push it to the back of your head. Probably because you realise what a mess you’re now in.
Came the dawn, and I’d put Tom’s arm in a sling and pumped him full of painkillers.
‘I don’t suppose I can go to a hospital, can I?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘Let’s not. For the moment.’
‘I am in a lot of pain.’
‘And goodness me, how Angry Birds must be suffering,’ I growled unkindly.
Tom said something quite rude and went outside.
I joined him. You need two hands to light a cigarette. I stole one off him.
I stood there, in the rain, trying not to cough.
He smiled. Uneasy peace. ‘We’ve really screwed up, haven’t we, boss?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Any ideas? What do we d
o now?’
‘Wait?’ he asked. ‘Sebastian’s replacement seems to be very successful.’
‘I was rather afraid he would be. Which is why I never activated him before.’
‘Plus…’
‘Plus I rather loved the old one.’
We stood there silently for a bit longer.
‘How do you feel?’
I shrugged, and dragged on the cigarette. ‘Running on empty? Is that what you’d say? I want to go to bed and cry for a week. Oh, what have I done?’
Tom groaned. ‘It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?’
‘Yep.’
We stood there for a bit longer. I was aware of how wobbly those damn cigarettes make your legs. I leaned back against the damp brickwork of the Weather Station. I wanted to go home.
That’s when we saw her.
Pushing her pram up the path to the fence.
Gwen.
‘Hi there!’ she called out to us. ‘I think you’d better let me in.’
‘Can’t do that,’ I called back.
Gwen grabbed something from a pannier under the pram. It was a set of bolt cutters.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Not a request.’
Tom chuckled. A top secret military base was being broken into by a woman with a pram. ‘Nice,’ he laughed.
‘Yeah,’ I replied.
Things were so bad, I figured… well, let her have a go.
The door banged open. Sebastian stood there, his face set in that empty smile I was learning to fear.
‘Morning!’ called out Gwen. ‘I’m breaking in.’
‘No,’ said Sebastian. ‘Stop. Turn around. Take your baby. Go home. We’ll deal with you later.’
Gwen shook her head. ‘Not going to happen.’ She applied the bolt cutters to the fence and started to snip.
Sebastian’s voice carried over the morning rain. ‘Mrs Williams, you and your baby… you are powerful symbols to the people of Rawbone. Interesting. I would rather see this preserved for further study.’
‘See,’ sighed Gwen, snipping away at the fence. ‘That’s why I’ve got to break in and stop you.’
‘Last chance,’ said Sebastian and pulled out a gun.
I felt sick. Sick that he was casually aiming a gun at a woman with a pram. Sicker still because I knew that she wouldn’t stop and he wouldn’t fail to fire. Sickest because I’d created him.