by Cathy Ace
The wRONG bOY
by
Cathy Ace
The Wrong Boy
Copyright © 2018 Cathy Ace
Four Tails Publishing Ltd.
Date of first publication worldwide: January 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at this address: [email protected]
Cover artwork: © Four Tails Publishing
Cover photograph: © Emma Mugford
ISBN 978-1-7751754-5-2 (hard cover)
ISBN 978-1-7751754-2-1 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-7751754-1-4 (electronic book)
The wRONG bOY
by
Cathy Ace
5th November
John Watkins hooked open the bedroom curtains and wiped the frost-feathered window with his pajama sleeve. ‘I thought that’s what I could see. Somebody’s lit a fire on the hill above the village.’
His wife tutted her annoyance at him letting in the cold. ‘All the way up there? No.’
‘Yes. Come and take a look.’ Brass rings clattered as he pulled at the worn brocade. He breathed hard on a couple of panes to clear them.
Dilys gripped her steaming mug of tea with both hands as she shuffled across the room. The moon hung in the coal black sky, and glistened on the coal black sea. Her eyes shifted from the sparkling surf to the inky hillside above. ‘That’s up by the old RAF listening station, by the looks of it.’
‘Guy Fawkes Night. Probably some kids,’ mused John, rubbing his arthritic thumb. ‘They had that do at the pub in Rhosddraig tonight, didn’t they? Sparklers and hot dogs. Maybe someone had one too many and thought it would be a good idea to start their own bonfire up there.’
‘That’s dangerous, lighting fires all over the place.’ Dilys shook her head with resignation as she turned toward the bed, eyeing its welcoming mounds with delight. Even her bones felt tired. ‘It’s nearly midnight. Who’d be out there in this temperature, doing that?’
Her husband’s face creased into a smile. ‘It’s only one fire, not loads of them, Dilys. And I can think of a woman who – when she was a girl – would have been up for a bit of mischief like that.’ He winked and smiled. ‘Remember her?’
Dilys rolled her eyes. ‘Even sixty-odd years ago I wouldn’t have wanted to be out in this cold, not with you or anyone else, John Watkins.’ She sat on the edge of the bed, placed her mug beside the alarm clock, and pushed off her slippers with her toes. ‘Come on, let’s get back in here to warm ourselves, and get some sleep. We’re up early in the morning with a long day ahead of us. A diamond wedding anniversary, with a blessing in the church and a party afterwards, only happens once. You never know, there might be a surprise for you at the breakfast table.’ She patted her husband’s pillow.
‘Who’s that, now then?’ said John, ignoring his wife’s invitation. He was still at the window, bobbing his head to avoid the reflection of the bedside lamp. ‘Well, well, I don’t know how that family’s got enough to pay out for the sort of get-ups they wear these days. That coat alone must have set them back a bit. And look at that – riding a bicycle on the footpath. I’ll have a word with them about that, I will. And the fire, too.’
‘John, come on, it’s late, love.’
John clambered into bed, and kissed his wife’s cheek. ‘What were you doing sixty years ago tonight, I wonder?’
Dilys gave her husband a gentle shove. ‘Crying myself to sleep because I was terrified about my wedding night, that’s what. My mother – God rest her soul – had tried to tell me what to expect of being with a man for the first time; she didn’t do a very good job of it. I had a bad stomach that night too. Butterflies they were back then, not this blinking wind I’ve got griping me now; I can’t seem to shift it.’
John snuggled under the duvet. ‘You were such a sweet girl. Carried away with you, I was. And I love you even more now. You know that, don’t you?’
Dilys nodded and grunted.
John didn’t like to see his wife in pain. He thought she looked more than usually peaky. ‘Why don’t you sit up for a bit; rub your tummy. Maybe that tea will shift it. You took some of your medicine, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did. Don’t worry, love, it’ll pass. It always does – one way or another.’ Dilys chuckled. ‘Now, come on, night, night. It’ll be time to get up before you know it.’
‘True enough.’
John turned off the lamp.
It was gone four in the morning when John rang for the ambulance. For once in his life he cursed the fact that the farm – high on the coastal moor between the villages of Rhosddraig and Lower Middleford – was so remote.
He held his wife’s hand as the bedside clock ticked sluggishly, and put everything from his mind except Dilys’s ragged breathing, and his prayers for the paramedics to arrive in time for her life to be saved.
6th November
Sadie
I hate double English. I hate double anything – it’s too long to keep thinking about just one thing. I suppose it isn’t so bad at the moment, because Aled’s been picked to read Romeo in class. Though why Mrs Lee had to pick Rhian to read Juliet I’ll never know. Priya Patel would have been better – at least she goes to elocution lessons and can read things aloud properly. Rhian stumbles over every line.
Aled reads Romeo like an angel, and I can tell he’s thinking of me when he reads it, not Rhian.
She’s just a big lump. Everyone says it, not just me. And it’s true. She was always useless at PE. Can’t run for toffee. And it shows. Wobbles about all over the place, she does. I mean, I know I’m not fast, but who could be with these boobs?
I hate my boobs. Mam says I can’t have them made smaller until I’m an adult. Says I haven’t stopped growing yet. Well, I’ll be eighteen in six months and three weeks, so then I can do what I want.
But Aled likes them. Can’t keep his eyes off them; sometimes he talks to them, not me. I might ask him about getting them made smaller. Maybe he wouldn’t like it. I wouldn’t want to do it if he didn’t want me to. I’ll ask him. When I’m eighteen.
Mam and I were talking about what I’ll do to celebrate my next birthday, it being such an important one. Of course I have my own plans for the night, but she said she’d be happy to make me one last hare-shaped, white blancmange surrounded by green jelly grass, just like I’ve been having since I was little. I think that’s a good idea, because after that night I’ll be a totally different person, and that might not be suitable for me anymore.
Aled’s birthday was weeks and weeks ago, lucky bugger. It must be great to be eighteen. No one treats you like you’re a kid anymore. Nan’s letting him serve behind the bar in our pub now, which is nice for him ’cos he gets more hours, so more money. But we don’t see as much of each other as when he could only help down in the cellar, or in the kitchen, with me.
God, it was busy last night! I don’t know why Nan wanted to do all that stuff with the hot dogs and burgers. Mam said it was a good night for the takings, but I was the one stuck listening to Hywel bloody Evans going on and on about the pivotal role the Welsh spy Hugh Owen had in bringing Guy Fawkes into the Gunpowder Plot.
Hasn’t he got anything better to do than read all about boring old Welsh history, then try to tell everyone about it? Listen to him and you’d think everything ever done anywhere in the world had a Welshman at the heart of it. Always a man, of course, never a woman. We don’t exist, apparently. Typical.
I was the one who had to
clear away all those greasy plates and mugs coated with hot chocolate last night. My hands were raw after I’d done the washing up; Nan reminded me when I moaned about it that I was the one who said we shouldn’t use paper plates and foam cups. I was right about that – they’re a total blight on the environment, all those so-called disposable things. So I shut up; I didn’t want a scene, I just wanted her and Mam to get off to bed, and go to sleep.
It was a big night for me, and Aled, of course. I wonder if I’ll look different to other people today. I love him so much. More than anything. I know Mam and Nan wouldn’t understand how Aled and I feel about each other, not for a minute. That’s why we have to keep our love a secret from them.
Mam wouldn’t have divorced Dad if she’d loved him as much as I love Aled. Couldn’t have. And Nan never has a good word to say about Grampa, if she mentions him at all, so I don’t think she could ever have loved him. Not really. Not even when he was alive. He was probably all that was left over after the war in any case.
Aled said he’s missing his surfing. His Grannie Gwen won’t let him go in the sea during the winter. She says the dragon might take him; it’s true that when the dragon writhes in pain there are killer tides, but the dragon only takes bad people, not good ones, and Aled is good. He does everything for his grannie. Well, it being just the two of them, he has to. He said he’s grateful she’s brought him up as her own, since his mother died.
Poor Aled, he’s had such a tragic life. But he never lets it get him down. He says life’s for the living, and we’ve got to make the most of it while we’re here.
Loves surfing, he does. It’s not my thing, because I don’t like the sea on my face, but it’s fun to watch him in the summer, when his Grannie Gwen lets him do it. He looks fantastic in his wetsuit. He’s got a gorgeous body. Perfect. His hair’s lovely, too. Lush. All long and blonde with floppy curls. By the time we went back to school after the summer holidays it was so white I could see light coming out of it.
Oh Aled . . . when we get married I’ll be Mrs Sadie Beynon. Mrs Sadie Beynon has a lovely ring to it. It sounds like I could be anything, with that name. Being married must be wonderful, if you’re in love. And, of course, I could be Mrs Sadie Beynon who runs The Dragon’s Head pub in Rhosddraig, if I want.
Not everyone’s happy all the time, like me and Aled. I hear Mam crying at night sometimes, but that’s to be expected, I suppose, because she’s all alone. She said to me more than once when I was younger that this place felt like a prison.
Never known anywhere different, me. But Dad couldn’t stick it. He told me that when I was little, too. Thinking about it now, I must have been very little when he said it, because he left when I was only four.
Funny that, the things we remember from when we were really young. I can’t remember much about back then, but I do remember the way Mam and Dad would talk to me in the dark, when I was in their bed. But I can only remember being there with one of them at a time.
I wonder why Dad was with me there alone? Where was Mam, then?
She went away. But why did she go away? I don’t remember that bit. Maybe I’ll ask her. Or maybe I’ll ask Dad when I see him next.
Mam let me sleep with her after Dad went away for good, I do remember that. She smelled of something sweet, and always cuddled my back, keeping me and Mrs Hare safe in her arms. Of course, I was just a kid then. Now I prefer my own room, my own bed; I can lie here and think of Aled touching me.
There’s Mam calling again. I suppose I’d better get up; God knows Nan throws a fit when we don’t all stick to our bathroom timetable. And I can’t let Mam think I didn’t get a proper night’s sleep, or she’ll start The Inquisition and it’ll be awful. Besides, at least I can look forward to watching Aled while he reads Romeo’s lines.
Love really is ‘a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes’. Shakespeare must have known what real love was. A love like ours.
Sadie and Aled. Forever.
Helen
‘Sadie Myfanwy Jones, it’s time you were eating your breakfast, not still splashing around in the shower. You don’t want to miss the bus to school.’ Helen couldn’t believe how her daughter always left everything until the very last minute.
‘Lazy bag of bones, that girl,’ sniped Helen’s mother as she sucked on her first cigarette of the day at the breakfast table.
Helen did her best to hide her annoyance as ash fell onto the clean tablecloth; there’d be no point saying anything, because her mother would make a fuss about it being her tablecloth, her table, and her kitchen.
Instead of complaining, Helen defended her child. ‘Come on, Mum, Sadie’s still only seventeen, and she was up until all hours last night helping us clear around the pub. Just as well we closed early; she needs to be in bed by eleven on a school night. She works a lot more around this place than many other youngsters would for their families.’
‘Got it cushy, she has,’ replied Nan tartly. ‘And I pay her.’
Helen felt her chest tighten as she watched her mother sitting at the rickety table in the center of the small kitchen, surrounded by the higgledy-piggledy collection of mismatched cupboards and chairs. ‘You’re the one who suggested that, Mum. Not her. Indeed, you insisted, as I recall.’
‘Well . . .’
Helen watched as her mother stubbed out one cigarette and moved to light another. She knew she’d regret it as the words came out of her mouth, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘I thought you said you were going to give that up, Mum. This year, you said. Well, it’s November now, so there’s not much of this year left. And no sign of you slowing down at all. Look at what happened to poor old Dilys Watkins last night. Well, in the early hours of this morning, anyway. Eleri from the next farm over sent me a text to say she went up to the Watkins’s when she saw the lights; the paramedic in the ambulance told her it was Dilys’s heart. They were there an hour with her before they took her away. Stabilizing her, they said. Couldn’t say how she’d do. Poor old John was in a right state. Went in the ambulance with her.’
Nan Jones paused, her lips clamped tight, pushing smoke through her nostrils. ‘I expect that means the service and the do at the church this afternoon will be off then. Diamond wedding or no diamond wedding, they won’t be at a blessing at two o’clock. But as for me smoking, this is my home, and I will do as I please, Helen. My roof, my rules.’
Helen felt crushed. She’d been hearing exactly the same words her entire life, and they felt more weighty each time they were uttered. Never more so than now, when – at the age of forty-seven – she’d always expected she’d be independent.
‘I haven’t got time for breakfast, Mam. I’ll be late,’ called Sadie.
Helen turned at the sound of her daughter’s voice; seeing her child’s smile always cheered her. She’d come back to Rhosddraig to help her unexpectedly widowed mother, and had stayed to raise her unexpectedly conceived daughter in one of the most beautiful places on earth, believing she’d benefit from the stability of village life, and the richness of the natural surroundings. Sadie’s smile was what all Helen’s sacrifices had been about.
‘I know you’re late, but you’re not missing breakfast, Sadie. I’ll sort something out for you to eat on your way. And I’ve got your lunch ready. Where’s your backpack?’
‘By my bed. I’ll get it.’
Helen watched Sadie’s long, dark ponytail flick as she scurried out of the kitchen; her heart melted. She was so proud of her daughter; Sadie was well balanced, and her teachers said she had a good chance of doing well at her A levels. The only real issue was that her daughter couldn’t decide what she wanted to do after she left school, so they were negotiating the idea of a gap year, while the January deadline for applying to universities was creeping ever closer. There was also the fact that, since the beginning of the school year, Sadie’s bedroom had suddenly become off limits to her mother. Helen suspected it might be normal. She was giving Sadie the benefit of the doubt about her new desire for privacy, putt
ing it down to her daughter becoming more mature. She tried to recall what she’d been like aged seventeen, but no memories surfaced.
‘Morning, Nan,’ said Sadie brightly as she passed her backpack to her mother. ‘Lovely day for ducks.’
‘Mmm,’ replied Nan miserably through a wreath of smoke. ‘Shame I’m not one.’
‘Oh, come on, Nan, look on the bright side,’ said Sadie, winking at her mother as she patted her grandmother’s shoulder.
‘Not your Nan’s forte,’ replied Helen quietly, kissing her daughter on the cheek. ‘Lunch is tuna sandwiches. Don’t scrunch your face up like that, you’ll eat them and they’ll keep you full. I put in an extra banana because they’re on the turn; nice and soft, the way you like them. And there’s some toast and Marmite too, for you to eat before you get off the bus. Be good. Stay as dry as you can, and – if you can’t – there’s a change of socks in your bag, rolled inside your school shoes.’
‘Not wearing socks,’ shouted Sadie as she clattered down the wooden stairs to the porch where the family’s substantial range of outerwear was stored. ‘I’m in thick tights today, ’cos it’s cold. See, I’m so sensible, aren’t I, Mam?’
Helen peered over the bannister. Sadie was already zipping her red, vinyl, hooded raincoat as she stubbed her feet into her blue wellingtons. ‘Put a scarf on, you’ll be glad later.’ As the words came out of Helen’s mouth they reminded her of her own mother, many years earlier.
‘Already did, Mam. See you. Bye.’
The rain lashed through the open door onto the flagstones as her daughter ventured out into the early-morning darkness. Through the window at the top of the stairs Helen could see the distant headlights of the bus winding along the only road that served the headland, and the village perched upon it. The bus stop was only two minutes’ walk away; Sadie would make it with time to spare.
