by Mary Grand
As she sat in the car, Catrin suddenly felt her heart start to pound. Oh God, not now, not a panic attack. She consciously slowed her breathing, counted silently, then she tried to notice the things around her: the hot sticky steering wheel clenched by her fingers; the sweat running down her back; the heat of the sun on her arm; and, out there, a buzzard hovering just at the edge of the motorway.
‘You alright, Mum?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘So why is it called Worm’s Head?’
‘Let me think. Yes, the name comes from a very old Viking word, w-u-r-m (she finger spelled), which actually means Dragon. The story goes that Vikings were invading Rhossili on a foggy night and they thought Worm’s Head was a dragon.’
‘So really it should be called Dragon’s Head? Wow. Is that why Grandad’s house is called The Dragon House?’
‘That’s right. The Dragon House is actually in a tiny village called Bryn Draig. It’s up from Rhossili on the side of the downs. You can see Worm’s Head from there.’
‘And it was on Worm’s Head that Aled fell? On TV I saw it was an island, so how did he get there? Was he in a boat or something?’
Catrin gritted her teeth. This was one of the reasons going back was such a mistake, and particularly to go with Bethan. She was bound to be full of questions, questions Catrin couldn’t answer, talk that would stir up memories best forgotten. If it had been simply her and her father it would have been easier. They both knew the boundaries of what they would talk about. Bethan was like a small child running around a silent church picking up sacred things and shouting out questions. Even the way she said Aled’s name was all wrong. The correct way to say it was in solemn, reverent tones. Also, the accident was not something to be glibly talked about. If it had to be mentioned, you skirted tactfully around it, spoke hesitantly, embarrassed to have brought it up. However, Bethan had no idea of this unspoken etiquette. Catrin coughed and tried to answer her.
‘Worm’s Head is not always cut off. There’s a strip of land, a causeway that links Worm’s Head to the mainland. Most of the time it is covered with sea, but for a few hours each day it is clear.’
‘Do you mean like that place we went in France where the monastery was?’
‘M-o-n-t-S-a-i-n-t-M-i-c-h-e-l?’ Catrin finger spelled.
‘That’s it.’
‘Yes, something like that, but there is no man-made path. It’s a very rough causeway, and on Worm’s Head there are no buildings. No-one lives there, well, apart from sheep. People do visit via the causeway when it’s open.’
‘So Aled went over the causeway? It sounds an exciting place. It must have been fun going over when you were younger. You know, when you went to stay at The Dragon House when you were little.’
‘Actually, I’ve never been to Worm’s Head. My mother, your Grandma Isabel, was adamant we should never go there, so we never did.’
‘But Aled went on the night of his party?’
Catrin nodded. ‘Yes, but no-one knows why.’
‘It wasn’t a birthday party for Aled, was it? I mean, he was pretty old by then?’
‘Aled was only twenty seven, but, no. It wasn’t a birthday party. My parents were celebrating him coming to work in Grandad’s practice. Aled had been out in New York for about three years working in an associated office. Grandad was very excited he was coming back.’
‘I’d have thought it was a bit of a come down to come back to the UK from America.’
Catrin fiddled with her bracelet. ‘Aled was going to head up some big project here. He was an outstanding architect.’
‘Grandad is always telling me that.’
‘Aled was very special.’ The car in front made a move and Catrin turned away to concentrate on driving.
Eventually they were able to leave the motorway and turn off towards Swansea. Catrin saw the first brown sign to Gower. She really was going there. Soon it will all be over, she reminded herself and, as a further distraction, she started to try and plan the things she would do after the visit. The garden: that’s what she would do. She would have a go at the border; pull out the bindweed that was taking over.
Then she gripped the steering wheel. That was exactly what she had been thinking eighteen years ago as she and Gareth had driven to Gower for Aled’s party. She had been nervous about going then, though, on reflection, the reasons seemed relatively trivial. The thing was that she had not been married long then, and had hated leaving her first child Lowri. It was their first night apart. She remembered giving Gareth’s parents numerous lists, clothes and equipment for every possible eventuality, but still she had been worried. But, of course, there had been no question of them not going: the party was for Aled. However, she had been dreading the whole thing. Socialising with her father’s trendy architect friends always made her feel so inadequate. Also, of course, her mother would be there. Catrin always worried about her at social occasions. She remembered sitting in the car next to Gareth on the way to the party her hands clasped together, thinking, ‘Get through tonight; we can leave straight after breakfast. I can go home and have a good go at the garden.’
But that’s not what had happened. She had sleepwalked into one of the most momentous, life-changing moments of her life. Back in Cardiff in those days she had an enormous family calendar on which she kept meticulous record of all the events coming up. It had made her feel in control of her life. But that night things had happened which demonstrated that that was a complete illusion. The calendar had been torn up on her return. Nothing had been the same since the night of the thirtieth of July nineteen-ninety-four.
As she drove now to Gower with Bethan, and planned her time after the visit, she reassured herself that fate would never do that to her again: lightning never strikes in the same place twice. She sat back and tried to relax, tried to silence the voices that nagged away, telling her that she was wrong. Because, of course, deep down she knew that lightning can strike more than once in the same place and, if that could happen, surely fate could catch her again, could once more set in motion events for which she was totally unprepared. Once again, events could occur that would change her life and the lives of those around her, for ever.
Chapter Three
Catrin pulled into a petrol station. As she got out of the car to fill it up Bethan said, ‘I’m going to buy a drink.’
‘OK. Take some money. Could you get me a coke?’
Bethan took a five pound note from Catrin’s purse and walked to the kiosk.
As Catrin awkwardly lifted the petrol pump from its stand, she watched as Bethan, tall, slim, in denim shorts and white T shirt, her long straight black hair falling down her back, walked confidently ahead of her. Catrin felt that familiar mixture of pride and panic familiar to many parents. People talked about your ‘birds leaving the nest’ but, far from wanting to push her chicks out, as she had seen many birds do on Spring Watch, Catrin’s natural instinct was to pull them back, to protect them from a world of predators. She admitted to being even more protective of Bethan. Out in the world, there were so many things that Catrin could not control, and it was impossible to protect Bethan from them all. Of course, this is where Bethan’s inner strength and confidence came in. It was Bethan who picked herself up after being teased, ignored, or told she could not achieve a dream. Things that broke Catrin’s heart seemed, often miraculously, to make Bethan stronger. But not always, and there had been plenty of tears and hurt to wipe away.
As she watched Bethan going over to the kiosk, Catrin was aware that even in this simple act of buying some drinks there were things that could happen that could embarrass or hurt Bethan. The man serving might mumble or look away so that Bethan couldn’t lip read him or, if he saw her hearing aids, and actually realised she was Deaf, he might over-enunciate in some kind of pantomime, making lip reading impossible. Of course, he might be the kind of person who refused to even try to communicate, who would stare at her blankly, and claim that he could not understand her simply because
her intonation was a bit flat and nasal. Catrin’s fears were not groundless. These were all things that had happened to Bethan a number of times. Fortunately Bethan returned, smiling, holding the drinks.
‘It was OK, Mum,’ said Bethan, laughing, knowing exactly what her mother was thinking. ‘It was easy. Do you know I ordered a round of drinks in the pub the other night? Orange juice for me, of course,’ Bethan added, grinning in a way that did nothing to reassure her mother. ‘Anyway, this woman behind the bar kept saying ‘What?’ to me, and looking at Sabrina to ask her what I was saying. Sabrina, of course, refused to play. In the end, the woman gave me a piece of paper and a pen, and told me to write down my order, so I wrote, ‘You’re a stupid cow,’ and handed it back to her.’
‘Honestly, Bethan,’ said Catrin, shocked.
Bethan laughed. ‘It was OK. There was a good-looking guy behind the bar who came over and took the order no problem.’
Catrin finished filling the car and went to pay. Then she drove to a space away from the queues where she and Bethan could have a drink.
‘Someone at school told me Gower is cool now. Katherine Jenkins has a house there.’
‘I heard that. Of course, Dylan Thomas spent his childhood there.’
‘Who?’
‘He’s a Welsh poet, famous.’
‘Hang on. Under Milk Wood.’
‘That’s right. I think he got stranded on Worm’s Head once.’
‘So, who do you think will buy the Dragon House?’
‘I’ve no idea. Grandad is doing this sealed bid thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, the house is put up for sale as usual, but then people put in their bids in sealed envelopes by a certain day. Grandad can then choose who he sells the house to.’
‘Ah, the person who offers the most, I suppose.’
‘Maybe, but also whoever is in the best position to buy and all that kind of thing. Anyway, I have no idea who will buy it. It’ll be odd to think of strangers living there, but it should be lived in properly. It should be a family home.’
‘What’s the actual house like, then?’ asked Bethan.
Catrin relaxed. ‘The house is lovely, big, and rambling. The gardens were always pretty wild. I suppose inside will look very old-fashioned now: patterned carpets, and the kitchen was all odds and sods.’
‘It doesn’t sound like Grandad’s kind of house. The houses he designs, like his Cardiff house, are all ultra-modern. I love them.’
‘They are certainly different.’
‘I don’t see why you and Dad are so down on Grandad’s house. I mean, you live in a modern house.’
‘Ours is an estate house; nothing like the kind of thing Grandad designs. He despises houses like ours.’
‘It is a bit boring. Why don’t you move?’
‘I don’t know. Dad wanted to, but it was always handy being close to my Mum, your Grandma Isabel. You know, I could look after her.’
‘But Grandma died years ago when I was just a baby.’
‘I know.’ Time was a weird thing, thought Catrin. Eighteen years since losing Aled; sixteen since losing her mother; so long ago, and yet it felt like no time at all.
‘So is the Dragon House very old?’
‘Oh yes, very. I think it was a farmhouse originally. That was long before my Nana Beth lived there, though.’
‘It must have been a fantastic place to grow up for Grandma Isabel.’
‘It was. For her and her sister, my Aunty Angela. I think it must have been wonderful.’
‘And then your Mum took you and Aled to stay for holidays?’
‘That’s right. Every summer we all went to stay with Nana Beth. I would count down the days until we went. I loved my Nana Beth. She would take me down to the beach with my red metal bucket and spade and we would build enormous princess castles. There’s a lot of shells on the beach. We would collect them to decorate the castles. Aled, of course, would be running around. He was five years younger than me and didn’t have the patience to build. He’d dash back and forth getting the water for the moat, spilling most of it on the way–’ Catrin could see him running, his thick blonde curls blown about in the wind.
‘I like hearing normal things about Aled,’ said Bethan.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The thing is, when you and Grandad talk about him, it’s like he was some kind of god. Well, that’s not possible, is it? He must have been human. No-one is perfect, are they?’
Catrin bit her lip hard. ‘Aled was exceptional: very clever, good looking, sporty, everything. To die young, to die in that way, well, you know, was unthinkable. I still imagine I’ll wake up and find it was some dreadful nightmare.’
Catrin heard Bethan’s phone vibrating, and saw her reading a text.
‘Ah, my big sister,’ Bethan said.
‘What does Lowri say?’
‘She says she’s bringing her boyfriend, Mark, tomorrow.’
‘Really?’
‘I’m glad she’s coming. I never get to see her now she has this man.’
‘I was surprised when she asked to come to Gower. Of course, she’s never been there either. I guess she’s curious. I was just relieved she was finally taking a break from her studies.’
‘I wish she was coming on her own. Still, I’m curious about this bloke. I mean, none of us have met him, have we?’
‘No. It’s odd. They’ve been together since, ooh, it must be about February. I’ve kept asking her to bring Mark round. I know he’s not a medic. She told me he’s a lecturer at Cardiff University.’
‘He owns his own flat. Not bad, eh?’
‘Lowri always stays there. She texts a lot. What does she tell you about him?’
‘Nothing, Mum. You know Lowri, very secretive. She did text me a week or two ago about your birthday. Are you excited about it?’
‘Excited about tomorrow? No, not really. I don’t really worry about birthdays at my age.’
‘Well, I expect Grandad will be pleased to see you on it. And now you have Lowri as well. Dad will come, won’t he?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Even Dad wouldn’t miss your birthday. It’ll be quite a family get together. And we all get to meet this Mark. Lowri won’t answer any of my questions about him. She’s hopeless at putting things on Facebook. I’ve not even seen a photo of him. Do you think he has hundreds of tattoos and piercings, or maybe he’s a married man having an affair?’
‘That doesn’t sound like Lowri.’
‘You never know. It could be a new side of her we know nothing about. I can’t believe it’s only three years now until she’ll be a doctor.’
‘Well, there’s a foundation for two years after that. It all takes so long.’
Bethan fiddled with her hair. Then said, ‘Talking of university, Mum–’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been thinking again about not living at home, but going into halls. There are rooms, you know, that have been adapted for Deaf students; flashing alarms, the lot.’
‘We discussed it. Not in the first year.’
‘Lowri did.’
‘She was only up at the hospital, and she came home a lot in her first year.’
‘But –’
‘No. We have it all arranged.’
Bethan shrugged, but Catrin knew it was a gesture of postponement rather than surrender.
Bethan took a long swig of her drink, then said, ‘Grandad wants me to play my flute at Aled’s memorial.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. You know how impressed he is that I can play the flute. He thinks it’s some kind of miracle,’
‘It is impressive.’
‘But I love playing the flute. It was a good choice of instrument for me. I’ve tried to explain to him that there are lots of keys that allow me to make the correct note more precisely, and with my aids I can hear some sounds. I also told him that there is so much more to playing than sound. It’s like me and the flute become
one. It’s wonderful. I know I find performance difficult, but I can express feelings I can’t express in any other way.’
Catrin smiled. She understood why her father found Bethan’s love of music hard to understand, but it was very real and all they could do was support her and stand in awe.
‘You don’t mind playing at the memorial, then?’
‘No. I feel I owe it to Grandad. He paid for a lot of extra tutorials, and summer schools at conservatoires. All that one to one teaching with people who understood made so much difference. It’s my way of saying thank you.’
‘He has been very generous, I know, but you must only play if you are comfortable.’
‘I’ll be fine. It will be good for me, and it’s in honour of Aled really–’
‘Well, see how you feel, Right, we’d better drive on.’
Their route took them along the busy seafront of Swansea, past people playing pitch and putt, families eating ice-cream. Then they turned off towards Uplands, driving up the long steep roads until eventually they arrived at the Gower commons. Catrin loved it up here: the sense of space, the seascape of heather and gorse.
‘Look,’ shouted Bethan.
Catrin pulled in. They sat and watched a scruffy group of brown and white ponies eating the brambles and tough grass. ‘When I was little, Nana Beth used to tell me they turned into unicorns and would fly at night. They’re beautiful, aren’t they? You know they say a Viking king is buried up here. I think he was called S-w-e-y-ne-s-e-y, (she finger spelled) or something. They say Swansea is named after him.’
‘How do you know all this stuff?’
‘It was Nana Beth and my Mum. They both loved history, particularly the history around here.’
Catrin looked ahead, at the sea sparkling on a distant horizon. It looked much further away than it really was. Nothing was what it seemed here.
Bethan’s phone vibrated again. Catrin heard her laughing at a text.
‘What’s up?’
