I looked at Henry as he plodded toward me.
‘Chilli con carne tonight, boy,’ I said, as he wagged his tail in approval. ‘You haven’t tasted it yet,’ I added, nodding at his tail. ‘Besides, I think onion is bad for you.’
I struggle with onions. Whichever way I approach preparing them, my eyes always stream. I’ve tried all the ‘cures’ – wearing sunglasses, chopping under an open window, placing a wet metal spoon between my teeth – but nothing alleviates the symptoms. They say peeling away the layers of an onion is like revealing a person’s character. Not sure what this says about me, as with the first crisp, dry layer removed, I am reduced to tears.
I selected an onion I hoped wouldn’t be vicious. I picked up the knife and cut through the top. With the first layer of skin discarded and the onion sliced in half, my eyes began to smart.. By the fifth cut, the sting had forced my eyes to close, the resulting tears burning even more as I screwed up my face, searching for relief.
The doorbell rang, directing Henry to forget about his forthcoming dinner and revert to his role of reluctant guard dog with a deep but half-hearted bark.
I ignored him and the doorbell and kept on chopping, now operating by touch alone, as I was rendered blind by tears.
The doorbell rang again, three times in quick succession.
Guess I should answer it, I thought to myself.
I wandered through the hallway, rubbing my eyes with my shirtsleeves. As I neared the front door I sniffed hard as my nose became affected too.
I opened the door and focused on the threshold through watery eyes.
‘Cerys?’ I asked for confirmation, not wanting to rely on my blurred vision.
‘Eddie, are you okay?’ she replied anxiously.
‘Yes, I am fine.’
‘You don’t look fine.’
I glanced at my reflection in the hallway mirror and for the first time saw my bloodshot eyes peeking through swollen, puffy eyelids. My cheeks were moist and glistening where my tears had decided to settle. Frankly, I looked a mess, but my heart pounded hard in my chest at the sound of her voice.
I heard her making a fuss of Henry, who had joined me at the front door, and sensed her tickling his ears.
I turned back to Cerys. ‘I’ve been chopping onions!’ I stated with a smile.
‘Liar!’ she replied, looking up. ‘Anyway, I wasn’t talking about your eyes; you’ve lost a lot of weight.
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I am fine,’ I repeated.
She continued to stand on the doorstep. She, in contrast to me, looked lovely, despite my blurred vision.
‘Sorry, please come in,’ I finally instructed, opening the door fully.
Cerys hesitated, choosing her words. ‘Is it okay? What about your wife? I shouldn’t have come,’ she added quickly, before I could answer.
‘Wait!’ I called as she turned to leave. ‘You said that once before on the beach – there must be a reason you came,’ I said, as she stood still. ‘And no, Sally isn’t here,’ I added.
She continued to wait.
‘Please come in,’ I said gently, my eyes finally clearing.
Cerys stepped inside, into my house, my domain, for the first time.
I closed the door and we embraced, briefly, awkwardly, in the hallway.
‘Come through, I’ll make tea,’ I said, unsure what else to say.
In the kitchen Cerys spied the half-chopped onions on the board.
‘You really were chopping onions!’ she giggled. ‘You should try a wet metal spoon in your mouth to stop the eyes thing.’
‘Doesn’t work,’ I dismissed, flicking the kettle switch on.
‘Your garden is lovely,’ she commented, ignoring my response.
I followed her gaze through the French doors and saw the garden with fresh eyes. Eight weeks of neglect had encouraged it to revert to a more natural state, and as the heat of summer had given way to the softer light of autumn, warm golden shades had spread across the garden.
‘Where are your wife’s bees?’ she asked.
‘The hives are at her brother’s place,’ I replied, handing her a mug of tea.
‘Oh,’ she said, blowing over the surface of the drink.
‘How did you find the place?’ I asked quickly, changing the subject from Sally.
‘You always forget you have a ruddy huge van advertising the Party King – I just needed to locate it parked up. I knew you were the other side of the mountains, so that narrowed down the search.’
‘Did it?’
‘No, I was being sarcastic.’
It had been a while; I wasn’t in tune with her at all.
‘How long were you looking for?’ I asked.
‘A week or so.’
‘I see.’
‘I had a cover story.’
‘Sorry, what do you mean?’
‘In case your wife answered the door, I had a cover story prepared.’
‘Right.’
‘I intended to say we were renting a property with my sister over the summer and it was my nephew’s birthday – I was driving by and saw the van and wondered if we could book a magic show. All very spontaneous.’
‘“Just driving by”? It took you over a week to find the place. Not very plausible, is it?’
‘You are wrong – I was going to state that I was lost and found this place by chance, very plausible in my eyes.’
‘“Renting a property over the summer”?’ I repeated.
‘Yes.’
‘But it is autumn now, look outside.’
‘You are splitting hairs, Eddie – anyway, the cover story wasn’t needed, as you are here. Where is your wife? When do you expect her home?’ Cerys smiled.
Something switched inside of me.
‘What do you want, Cerys, and why the fascination with Sally?’ I asked curtly, banishing her smile.
‘Because last time we met, you made it very clear you wanted to stay with your wife.’
I rolled my eyes.
‘I am not knocking this,’ she continued. ‘I was just resigned to meeting her today.’
‘What do you want, Cerys?’ I asked again, pouring my tea down the sink in temper.
‘Eddie, I need to talk to someone and you are the person who knows me best. If you had opened the door, I was going to start with this, but your appearance threw me. I am sorry for mentioning your wife, but now I am here, in her environment, it is a lot harder than I thought it would be.’
She paused, as if choosing her words carefully.
‘I don’t want to impose, but can we go somewhere else? But if your wife is coming home soon, or it’s not convenient, I can just leave,’ she said sadly.
‘Sure, let’s go out,’ I replied.
‘Thanks, Eddie. Maybe we can go to the beach, bring his lordship here, if he can behave during waking hours yet.’
‘No, he can’t,’ I responded with a smile, as Henry looked on, knowing he was the point of discussion. ‘We could head out for lunch?’ I offered quickly.
‘Looks like you have something already planned?’ said Cerys, nodding at the pile of half-chopped onions.
‘Was only dinner prep,’ I said, picking up the board and throwing the onions into the pedal bin.
‘What about your dinner?’
‘I can do it later.’
‘I feel awful imposing.’
‘Don’t, it isn’t a problem.’ I smiled at her. ‘I just need to change my shirt,’ I added, and walked out of the kitchen.
‘Don’t change on my account – look at what I am wearing,’ she shouted after me.
True, Cerys wore the clothes I had seen so many times before – baggy fleece, jeans and boots – but I was sure she hadn’t had the same shirt on underne
ath her fleece for three days as I had.
Once upstairs, I selected a cleaner shirt, worn only once before being hung back in the wardrobe, unwashed.
‘Do you do a lot of cooking, Eddie?’ she asked as I re-entered the kitchen.
‘Yes,’ I replied, picking up my set of keys.
‘Your wife is lucky,’ stated Cerys.
‘Shall we go?’ I suggested, ignoring her comment.
Cerys patted Henry goodbye and followed me through the hallway. I held the front door open for her to pass through and held her gaze for a second too long.
‘Where to? Best you lead, Eddie,’ said Cerys as we reached her Range Rover.
‘No, let’s just go in yours,’ I replied.
‘Travel together, you mean?’
‘That was the idea.’
‘Are you sure? What about—?’
‘The neighbours?’ I interrupted. ‘Can you see anyone else here?’ I added unnecessarily.
‘No, I was going to say, what about your wife? How will you explain where you’ve been when the van is here when she returns, but you are not?’
‘Just open the door of this beast!’ I commanded.
‘Assertive, Dungiven, nice!’ she said, unlocking the vehicle with a bleep. ‘I’ll drop you off near the house, don’t want to make it difficult for you later,’ she said, turning the engine over.
‘You like seafood, don’t you?’
‘Love it.’
‘Let’s try the Blue Cafe,’ I said.
Cerys shook her head.
‘You don’t know it?’
She shook her head a second time.
‘How long…?’
‘Have I lived here?’ she said, completing my sentence. ‘Not long enough, obviously,’ she added, smiling.
‘It’s about thirty minutes’ drive.’
‘Next to the sea?’
‘You do know it, then?’ I teased back.
We drove in silence; the scenery didn’t require any commentary. It was strange to be actually moving in this car that I had spent so much time stationary in, and to witness Cerys driving – it was like meeting someone for the first time.
‘Twenty minutes,’ said Cerys as we pulled into the Blue Cafe car park. ‘You must drive very s-l-o-w-l-y, if this takes you half an hour,’ she added playfully.
‘Ha, ha,’ I replied sarcastically.
The restaurant was only a third full, the lunchtime rush drawing to a close, and we had our pick of window seats to choose from that looked over the water, the vista flanked on the left by the mountains.
We ordered the food quickly, both deciding on mussels and string fries, which we knew to be fresh as the waiter pointed to the small boat in the bay pulling up lines, the sister ship of which, he explained, had landed ten minutes before. The boats hadn’t been out yesterday, he said, on account of bad weather, but today was ideal, and once the catch was landed, the shellfish would be cleaned and cooked.
I realised I still didn’t know what Cerys wanted to talk about, and prepared to ask when she interrupted me.
‘It’s lovely here, Eddie, do you come with your wife?’ she said, staring out at the view.
The same feeling I had experienced in the kitchen returned with her words.
‘Cerys, Sally has gone,’ I stated flatly, moving my head to take in her view of the bay.
‘Gone?’
‘She has left me.’
I felt a touch on my wrist and looked down to see her hand there.
‘I am sorry, Eddie,’ she said softly. ‘When?’ she asked, looking at me.
I gave a little laugh. ‘Last time I saw you on the beach, I came home to an empty house and a note.’
‘Not a great day, then?’
I smiled. ‘I received a letter yesterday from a solicitor, notifying me that she wants a divorce.’
I fell silent as our food arrived.
‘Is it what you want?’ asked Cerys when the waiter had gone.
I thought, choosing my words before replying.
‘I don’t have a choice,’ I said.
‘Is it what you want?’ she repeated.
‘I feel like I am a failure, I feel stupid, and I feel like I want to sign the papers and close my eyes and let it pass me by.’
‘I am sure it is normal, Eddie, it’s a form of grief.’
I looked at her quizzically.
‘Something is gone that was there, that was standard, and what is left behind is grief,’ she explained.
‘I think I knew it was too late, that too much time had passed to bring it back. But I didn’t want to be the one that admitted it. Trying to mend it made me somehow feel better.’
‘Somehow made you not to blame?’
I nodded.
We sat in silence.
‘We should eat,’ I instructed, looking at the bowls of fresh, steaming mussels.
We each took one first mouthful, and commented on the taste to each other before continuing to eat in silence.
‘I wasn’t going to tell you,’ I eventually admitted, ‘but you kept mentioning Sally, so I felt I had to.’
‘I am sorry. I guess I just wantedto connect to your life.’
We finished the course in silence. I was unsure exactly how she felt about my life.
‘I am as bad as you, Eddie, trying to keep things to myself,’ said Cerys, scrunching her napkin in her hand.
‘Is that what you want to talk about?’ I replied.
She turned her head out to sea once more.
‘Where do I start?’ she said, in the same tone she had used on the beach that day I learned about Phoebe’s disappearance.
I remained silent, letting her speak.
‘Cole has been arrested,’ she said flatly.
‘When? What for?’ I stammered.
‘I don’t know how to say this,’ she said, biting her lip.
‘Go on,’ I encouraged, now holding her wrist.
‘He’s an accessory.’
‘An accessory?’ I asked. Cerys was quiet. ‘To what?’
Cerys remained silent.
‘Cerys?’ I probed, trying to reconnect with her. ‘Cerys?’
She turned to face me, composed, ready to speak.
‘He has been arrested as an accessory to dog fighting,’ she revealed.
‘Dog fighting?’ I replied, trying to sound surprised and hide the guilt I felt for not warning her.
I must have been convincing, as she continued to explain.
‘That time I went to Amsterdam, I felt terrible checking in at the airport, because I was supposed to wake up with you and we both know what happened to that plan.’
She stopped speaking, and the words hit me hard.
‘I arrived,’ she continued, ‘tired and miserable, only for Cole to inform me he had to return urgently – the earliest flight was that afternoon. I was furious with him, but he said he had an emergency at one of his shops that he had to attend to. I should have been suspicious when he rejected my idea of flying back too and instead insisted I stayed and took in the sights for the day. He assured me he would be back in thirty-six hours. He can be very persuasive.’
She had stopped speaking again. My mind replayed her opening words over and over and refused to let them go, knowing I should be concentrating on the serious content.
‘We argued, we really argued, it was horrible, until he left the room and headed to the airport early, leaving me alone. In the empty room, my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten, so I ordered room service, selecting the most expensive breakfast combination to spite him!’ She stopped and gave a little laugh in my direction.
I smiled back, ignoring the fact that she had deviated from her husband’s arre
st.
‘To be honest,’ she continued, ‘I really had come to see Amsterdam on my own – Cole wasn’t interested in the place; it was all about business to him. I took time over the meal and spent the rest of the morning taking a canal cruise and visiting the Van Gogh Museum; the afternoon was spent in Anne Frank’s house and then it was a toss-up between the flower market and the flea market, but to be honest I was sick of flowers at this point, so bric-a-brac won. I finished the day with an early-evening meal in Chinatown. I was in bed by 10pm and slept really well, and was woken at eight by the bedside phone ringing. It took me a few moments to understand the significance of the call. It was Matthew Gorham, Cole’s solicitor.’ She paused and took a sip of water.
‘His solicitor?’ I repeated.
Cerys nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, after swallowing the liquid. ‘He told me Cole had been arrested at a secret dog fight and had now been charged.’
‘I am sorry, Cerys.’ It was my turn to speak with compassion.
‘Don’t be,’ she responded curtly. ‘He was watching dogs being ripped apart and betting on the outcome. Dogs, Eddie – he got what he deserved,’ she said, searching for my eyes with her own. ‘I am sure that’s where Phoebe went: ripped to shreds,’ she surmised.
‘No, I am sure that isn’t true,’ I countered, trying my best to sound convincing, to keep the vile conversation I had overheard by my van from my thoughts.
‘Really, Eddie? He wouldn’t divulge where she had gone, I asked him repeatedly, but he would never tell. Just said she was his dog, his property and I knew this.’
‘Why not ask him now? At this time, when there is nothing to hide?’ I suggested.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to see him,’ she said.
‘Isn’t that awkward?’
‘I have no desire to see him again,’ Cerys replied honestly.
‘Is he staying somewhere else, then?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I am not sure how bail works,’ I confessed.
‘He wasn’t granted bail,’ she said flatly.
I looked at her, surprised. ‘I thought…’
‘He would be released on bail?’ said Cerys, finishing my sentence.
I nodded.
‘Matthew Gorham told me during that first call that due to the people involved, bail had been denied. Extremely unsavoury characters involved in organised crime, by all accounts, who would possibly intimidate witnesses or worse, or even flee the country if released from custody.’
Chasing the Sun with Henry Page 28
