CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

 

I DIDN'T VENTURE out the following day, or the one after. I could afford not to, as I now had all the relevant provisions - bacon, eggs, bread, milk - and most importantly a couple of bottles or two of cheap Scotch.

By the second night, though, I was climbing the walls and decided to risk one of the local pubs, the Royal. I walked down Marine Road before going over the railway bridge. As I did, there was a brief, soundless flash. I thought it was lightning, but the brief report that followed wasn't thunder. A firework? But it hadn't had the loudness of a rocket bursting, and all I could see was a single pale spark, sinking and dying against a deep blue sky. Besides, I realised, Guy Fawkes had been and gone

Signal rocket. I walked on because there was nothing I could do. The lifeboat would be going out if it was needed. Someone else would be fighting for his or her life. All I could do was silently (and drunkenly) wish them luck, whoever they were.

I only had a couple of pints in the Royal. It was more for the company, such as it was that time of year, than anything else.

The next day, for once, it wasn't an effort to get into the bathroom and shower. I even managed a shave beforehand. I'd been wearing the same clothes pretty much unchanged for the last two weeks; I threw them into the wash. I stripped the bed as well. This happened now and again; I'd experience a surge of revulsion at the state of myself, or the house, or both, and there'd be a burst of activity.

With that all done, I inspected myself in the mirror and pronounced myself almost presentable.

The mind, as somebody once said, is a monkey. I'd alleviated the boredom with imaginary conversations with people I knew - people like Dr Whittaker, Janet or even Naomi Scrimgeour, there was no-one I knew that well around here - about the incident on the beach:

"Ben, you know some opioids can cause hallucinations, DHC included. It's infrequent, but it can happen. If they come back, see a doctor."

"Naomi, I could feel them behind me."

"Did they actually touch you, Ben?"

"Well, no."

"There you go then."

"But I saw them, standing in the water."

"Only saw them for a moment, when the sunlight reflected off the surface. You said so yourself."

"... yes."

"Well, then. Look, Ben, you've been through a hell of a lot. And you've made a great deal of progress. But it won't all be plain sailing, and you won't get over it all overnight."

"Dr Whittaker is right, love. Give yourself some time. Get out a bit. Socialise. Last thing you want is to stay in and brood. Meet some people, make some friends."

"Janet, I'm fine."

"Then why are you sat around having imaginary conversations with us?"

I took my stick and went out.

 

 

ON THE BEACH, a bitter rain drove in from the sea like a cloud of nails. A tractor, a mechanical scoop at the front raised high, as if in triumph, trundled towards the water. It was towing a small, four-wheeled trailer. On it rested a bright orange inflatable dinghy with an outboard motor and RNLI on the bow, which pointed back towards the town. Four men, in the bright orange jackets and white headgear of lifeboatmen, sat aboard it.

At the water's edge, the tractor turned to face the sea. The lifeboatmen jumped out. A warning klaxon blared; the tractor reversed into the shallows. The lifeboatmen lifted the dinghy into the water, then clambered back aboard. Within a few seconds, they were speeding out into Barmouth Bay.

I was in no rush - it wasn't really an option, in my state - and dawdled to study any random object that caught my attention or just admire the view; I reached the concrete jetty about twenty minutes later. As I clambered over the jetty and walked down the half-buried promenade to the quay, I saw the dinghy coming back in. They seemed to be empty-handed. A practice run, maybe, training.

Or perhaps they'd gone out to try and rescue somebody and failed, without even a body to bring back.

Not a pleasant thought.

It was 2:30. Still time, just, for lunch at Davy Jones' Locker.

The Locker is a small building, built from grey Welsh slate and dating back to medieval times. A small open deck out front overlooks the harbour. Inside, the rough, irregular stonework is whitewashed, except for the huge fireplace at the very back, which retains its natural grey. Sadly it's not a real fire, just red electric light seeping through the chopped logs in the grate. A huge stuffed fish (an allis shad, the old marine biologist in me noted, a member of the herring family) hangs over the front door. Seafaring paraphernalia adorns the nooks inside, or hangs from the black-painted ceiling beams - green-glass buoys in nets of knotted brown string, old fishing nets, a spider crab, ship's wheels, lengths of chain, winches, lobster pots, model ships, propeller blades, a sawfish's snout (rostrum, to give its right name), a basket of dried starfish, sea-urchin and empty conch shells, and a brass diving helmet with its single, Cyclopean window at the front. Lighting came from old ship's lanterns hung from the rafters and lit by electric bulbs within them.

They don't serve booze, but I could get by without for now. I was more hungry than anything else, so I took a table near the fire and ordered ham and duck eggs. I got a coffee as well, and drank it slowly. Outside, gulls wheeled low, letting out their mournful, repetitious cries.

Sally, one of the staff, came up. "Want another?"

She was about eighteen, with dark roots showing in her dyed-blonde hair. In my bad old days, I'd been known to sail close to the wind when it came to some of my students. Not anymore.

"Please."

"Same again?"

"Thanks."

She went back to the counter. It wasn't common practice - customers normally went and got their own refills - but she knew me and liked to save me the trouble. That day, I could've quite cheerfully gone to the counter under my own steam, but it was still nice to be waited on by a pretty girl. Even if it was more out of pity than anything else.

The café was quiet, but far from empty. As well as locals, people still came to the coast this time of year. Not the family holiday crowd, but it was a nice time of year for hill-climbing and watching the late autumn leaves fall. When the weather permitted, anyway.

I ate slowly. No rush. Besides, despite the booze and smoking, I still had a sense of taste. Might as well enjoy myself. I finished my meal, and lingered over the second cup of coffee. Sally collected my plate and offered another refill. I dug out the crumpled paperback I'd stuffed in my coat pocket before venturing out. Time passed.

"Mind if I join you?"

I looked up, but even before I saw her face I knew I was caught. A long black dress clung to a sleek, curved figure. Small, pale hands; pink nail varnish.

Her face was a pale oval, black hair piled on top. Large, dark eyes, a red rosebud of a mouth, pencilled eyebrows. A sharp nose, high cheekbones. A strong, handsome face overall. Not my usual type, but still...

She didn't look like a Goth. Maybe she'd just come from a funeral? But I didn't get that impression, either.

I didn't answer at first. I was - struck. Actually, smitten might be the proper term. She cocked her head slightly; raised her eyebrows, parted her lips.

"Sorry. Yes. Please do."

"Thanks." She sat. "I won't disturb your reading -"

"No, it's OK." I closed the book. "Nice to have a little company."

She smiled embarrassedly and looked down. Christ's sake, Stiles; a little less forward would be nice.

"Sorry - I just meant -"

"No, it's OK. Really. It's nice of you. I'm here with friends, but... They have different interests to me."

"Oh?"

"Well, they're off quad-biking today. And tonight... tonight they'll be roaring drunk and stoned."

"Not your thing?"

She twitched her nose and shook her head. "I'm a quiet kind of girl. Very boring, I know. Much rather go up in the hills or the woods and stand there looking out to sea."

"Yeah. I'm the same."

A pencilled eyebrow arched up. "Really? Somehow I picture you as quite the party beast." She smiled. It was mischievous if not downright naughty, but most of all it was real. It also made the corners of her eyes crinkle in a very nice way.

I laughed. "Used to be."

"Not anymore?"

"I had an accident, few months ago. Have to take things easier than I did. But..." I smiled back at her. "... I'm starting to enjoy myself again."

"Glad to hear it."

"Need a refill, Ben?"

"Um no, thanks, Sally." I still had half a cup. Besides, any more and I'd be running back and forth to the toilet, which I didn't fancy. Unlike the lady in black. "Would you like -?"

"Oh, just a coffee, please. Black, no sugar."

Sally's mouth twitched at the corner, but she nodded, smiled and said: "Coming up."

"Something I said?" the woman asked, after Sally had gone.

I laughed. "No. She likes to save me the hassle because I'm not that mobile. But that's just for me, not every other punter in the place."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. My fault, not yours."

Sally brought the coffee over, gave me a mock glare and winked. You're forgiven, but don't do it again. I smiled and watched her go.

"I think she likes you."

"I'm old enough to be her dad."

"Funnily enough, I don't imagine that stopping you. For long."

"Ouch."

"Ben, did she say?"

"Yeah, that's right. You're -?"

"Ellen." She extended a hand.

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

She sipped her coffee. I toyed with my cup. "Have you been up Panorama yet?"

"Where?"

"That's a no, then."

"I've only just got here." She took another sip, looked over the cup's rim. "But if you know of any good spots and don't mind showing me..."

Her eyes were very wide, very dark, and very inviting. A part of me wanted to make excuses. Run and hide. Too good to be true. Had to be some kind of a stitch-up. But I wanted to believe her.

"I'd love to," I said, and that sealed my fate. But of course it had been sealed long before then. "I can't take you there, though."

"Why not?"

And so I told her. Explained about the bends, how I couldn't travel to high altitudes.

She touched my hand. "Will you come some of the way with me? As far as you can? It would be nice to have the company."

What else could I say to that, but yes?

 

 

FROM THE TOP of Panorama, which lies at the edge of Dinas Oleu, right above the Mawddach Estuary, we could see the hills rolling inland to our left, the grey ribbon of the estuary winding through the sandbanks, wormed with narrow creeks, on each side. Turning right, beyond the railway bridge the estuary opened out into Barmouth Bay and, beyond that, into the Cardigan Bay and Irish Sea. In the distance was the Lleyn Peninsula, the long arm of land reaching from the top of Wales, and the mist-shrouded contours of Anglesey.

We stood in silence. I'd seen the view before, but I was seeing it with Ellen now, through her first-timer's eyes. And of course, I'd never expected to see it again myself.

Teeth gritted, I'd started climbing the long, steep road up the side of Panorama with her, expecting the agony to explode in my arms and legs any second, doubling me up and humiliating me. And once it did stab me; I'd gasped, but she'd reached out a hand to steady me and... and the pain had ebbed away. She'd looked at me and smiled. "OK?"

"Yeah." And I was.

"Want to go back?"

"No. Not yet."

We'd gone higher than I'd ever expected to, past streamlets trickling down rockfaces into little drainage ditches, coming off the mountain road and walking past the farmhouse that lay before the woodlands around the summit. Fallen leaves, rust-red, rustled in the light breeze. Stones thick with moss. All of this, and the landscape glimpsed in snatches through the trees, soon to be seen in full. The anticipation of seeing it again. Then out into the open air; restraining myself from looking around because I wanted to wait now till I reached the summit, determined to get there even if the pain, long deferred, exploded full-force. The last dozen yards were very steep, but I'd managed it, hardly even limping.

"It's so beautiful," she said at last; her voice hitched as she said it.

"Ellen?" A tear trickled down her left cheek. As I watched, another ran down her right. "Jesus, Ellen, are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes. I'm fine. No, really Ben. It's OK. It's OK. Really." She smiled, wiping her eyes. "It's just so beautiful."

"You've never been to Wales before?"

She shook her head and looked inland across the mountains. "I've never seen this land before."

A funny way of putting it, but I liked it. For a second I'd thought she'd said I've never seen land before. My imagination. It wasn't always reliable. I'd have to tell her that, if I saw her again. I knew I wanted to.

But not right now. Not just yet.

Ellen put her hand to her mouth and sniffed hard. Then again. And a long, sobbing breath out.

I put a hand on her arm, without thinking. She took her hand from her mouth, dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Silly," she said, looking down, not meeting my gaze.

I touched her chin, tilting her face up. "It's OK," I said. "It's OK." My voice shook a little; I could've cried myself. Maybe out of gratitude. Maybe it was just her company, or maybe she had some kind of healing touch - the kind of crap claimed by the kind of people I'd avoided as peddlers of false hope, exploiters of the gullible, determined to try and accept my fate with some kind of dignity rather than chase pointlessly after non-existent miracle cures. I didn't know or care; something had happened I'd thought never would again. I'd climbed a mountain. And for whatever reason, it was because of her. For that alone, I could have loved her forever, right then.

That moment. When the eyes lock. When you know, you just know, it's just a kiss away. And the kiss is coming, due within heartbeats.

I touched my mouth to hers. Soft, yielding. Then the touch of her tongue in my mouth, her tongue on mine. That first kiss. Like so much else, it'd become so common I'd stopped appreciating it. And like so much else, I was finding it fresh and new, with her, with Ellen...

... what was her second name?

No matter. There was time for all that. However long she was staying for.

Where was she going back to? She hadn't said. It didn't matter. It could be the grimmest place on earth, and I knew if she wanted, if she'd let me, I'd follow her there.

Christ, Stiles, is this love at long last?

A faint taste of salt in my mouth, in hers. The tears, perhaps. Finally she broke free, a gasp of breath, her hands on my chest, pushing me back. "Enough."

"Shit - Ellen, I'm sorry."

"No. It's OK. I just..." She touched my cheek, eyes crinkling with that smile of hers again. "You're very sweet."

"Sweet?" Christ. Kiss of death, a woman calling you that.

"Sweet," she said, and kissed my lips again, the merest brush. "We have time, don't we? Ben?"

"Yeah." I was smiling too, the biggest and stupidest of my adult life. "Much as you need."

"Good." She still smiled; the most amazing smile in the world. I wanted to see it every day for the rest of my life.

Shit, Stiles, this is love and all.

"So," she said. "Where now?"

 

 

WE WANDERED SOME more over the hills, then down to the old slate quarry and the harbour, which nestles in the crook of the coast road. I kept expecting the pain to kick in, but it never did. Perhaps it was a once-only miracle, and if I tried this again I'd be in agony. Thinking that sharpened my senses; I don't think I'd ever been so aware of what's around me before. After a while I stopped worrying and lost myself in the moments.

We walked back to the Quay and up the High Street for a drink in the Tal-Y-Don. I don't remember what we talked about. Everything and nothing. All that young lover's stuff, except neither of us were that young anymore. Not old either, but I'd always thought myself long past being smitten like that, if I'd ever been capable of it to begin with.

We had dinner at the Last Inn, a restaurant just off the quay. I had baked seabass, Ellen steak and chips. Afterwards, as the night fell, I walked her home along the sea front, arm in arm.

"Won't your friends be worried about you?" I asked.

She shook her head. "They know I like to go off on my own."

The sky had cleared; there were few clouds and the full moon hung low over the sea, laying a silvery path from horizon to beach. A lover's moon, I thought, and said so.

"You old romantic."

We stood and looked out for a while. Then she turned to face me, taking a deep breath. Shit. Here it came. The bad news. She had a boyfriend, or a husband.

She looked up at me - those big dark eyes - and said: "Ben, I want to sleep with you."

The air left my lungs. Panic. What if she wanted to come back to mine? Despite my clear-out that morning, the place was still in no fit state to receive a guest.

"But not tonight."

I was half-relieved, half-disappointed. But, as she'd said, we had time.

"I don't want to move too fast," she said. "I want it to be right. Does that... make sense?"

"Yes." And it did.

"Good." She touched my face. "Ben..." She laughed. "I've just realised, I don't even know your surname."

"Stiles. What about you?"

The moon lit her face as she smiled. "Vannin."

"Unusual name. Beautiful, but unusual. Where's it from?"

Her eyes crinkled again. "That's for me to know..."

A last, deep kiss and she stepped away. "I'll say goodnight now. It's too perfect. Only be an anticlimax otherwise. Meet you tomorrow?"

"Sure. When? Where?" I was like a lovesick schoolboy all of a sudden. Addicted. I was addicted to her.

"The Locker? About eleven o'clock?"

"Sure."

"Goodnight, Ben Stiles."

"Goodnight, Ellen Vannin."

I watched her walking away. She looked back once, blew me a kiss, and then disappeared up one of the sidestreets. There were plenty of hotels along the seafront, but she wasn't at any of them. Another mystery to be solved. The click of her heels on the pavement faded.

Ellen Vannin. The name tripped off my tongue. It sounded familiar. From somewhere. God knew where. As long as she wasn't a convicted axe-murderer.

I laughed at myself and turned to go.

They stood in the surf.

There was a long line of them. A dozen, maybe twenty. As before they were silhouetted, but the light gleamed through them, in places. Through gaps that shouldn't have been in a living person's body.

Cold green light glittered where their eyes should have been.

The one in the centre extended a hand and beckoned. One by one, as I stumbled away, along the deserted seafront, the others beckoned too.

A cloud slid across the moon as I ran; the pavement darkened. When I looked back, it had passed, and the moon shone again on an empty sea.