I said, ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘When you know, tell me.’ He turned again, looking intently at me before saying, ‘It’s better to be sure, don’t you think?’ His eyes closed.
A month or two ago this comment might have crushed me but by then I didn’t take it that way. I stood uncertainly looking at him. ‘Thanks, Ifan for all your help.’ He didn’t answer. He was asleep. I walked into his bedroom. It was untidy, but I didn’t care. I got into his bed and fell into a deep sleep.
The newspapers, especially the ‘red tops’, were full of the incident. Someone must have tipped them off. I always wondered whether it was Cherie Dear but I never asked her. She told me it was the best opportunity she’d ever had and that she’d received loads of offers for musical theatre. Eventually she stopped being a burlesque stripper and made a name for herself as an actress in light comedy.
Once the press discovered JF was a therapist, they were out for his blood. They don’t trust the touchy-feely therapeutic world. They saw through his hypocrisy, and having linked it with the rape and seduction of some of his clients, subjected him to a second version of stalking.
The police didn’t prosecute either me or Ifan; we were let off with a caution, but JF didn’t get away so lightly. I wasn’t the first to be raped by him and they were collecting evidence for a prosecution. He was bailed on a surety. He couldn’t go abroad and live with the pigs, which I thought was his rightful place. I told Ifan I was going to send him a jar of lavender honey, with a note saying ‘You’ll need more than this to sweet talk you’re way out of court,’ but Ifan stopped me. He said enough is enough and that I’d achieved my aim.
It’s strange though, revenge brought Ifan and me back together. We stopped being uptight with each other and became the best of friends. I knew I loved him, yet I couldn’t tell him because of my insecurity. And I still had a problem with sex. It was still a big deal and what JF had done had made me even more nervous. I knew Ifan had had girlfriends but I never asked him about them and he didn’t mention them. We both knew I had a strong jealous streak, so we had this weird relationship, where I suspected, but wasn’t sure, that sometimes he slept with other women. At the same time I wanted him like crazy but I couldn’t talk about it or act on it.
We were seeing more and more of each other, but neither of us made a move. It was safer the way it was, safe but stupid, I thought. I talked it over with Maddy. She was incredulous.
‘For Christ’s sake, Annie, that’s unbelievable. You’re not a child.’
‘I know, but it’s easy the way it is, and sex has never worked for me. Look at what happened when I came on to Gareth and then later, when Ifan and I tried to make out. Disastrous.’
‘Gareth’s different. Do you fancy Ifan or not?’
‘Yes, I guess, but…’
She interrupted me. ‘So do something, and then tell me. If it’s good, I’ll be over the moon for you, if it isn’t, so what, it’s not the end of the world. Go for it, Annie, and stop pissing about.’
‘He’s more like a brother.’
‘Well, the two of you need to stop behaving as if you were still children, come out of your den, get off your pontoon, do what you want to do. It’ll come naturally.’
I laughed. She was right of course, but she set me thinking. I still valued my childhood memories – the times we’d spent
in the estuary and I wanted to relive them. Maybe I was stuck in the past, but I didn’t care. That’s when I decided to line up another long weekend. It was over a year since my last visit to Wales and Philomena had contacted me again and asked when I was coming. I told Ifan. I wanted him to come too, but he said he’d got stuff to do. I even asked my mother. She was interested but she’d got a prior engagement that she couldn’t cancel. So I left it at that and made my own arrangements.
It was a Saturday and I was back in Wales, sitting in the farmhouse kitchen with Philomena. She was plying me with tea and homemade cakes when she told me she had a garden party to go to and asked whether I’d like to accompany her. It was a beautiful hot day and I was tempted, but I decided against it. ‘No, thanks,’ I said. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just hang out. I don’t want to do much. Maybe I’ll go to the estuary this afternoon, or I could even visit Gareth.’
‘That’s fine. But he doesn’t know you’re here, so give him a ring before you go. He might be out but he’d want to see you and you could meet Ceri. I’ll show you on the map where he lives. You’ll need to get a cab.’
She found a road atlas, pointed out the way and disappeared upstairs to get dressed for the party. It wasn’t long before she came back down. She was wearing a simple ‘A’ line dress in burnt orange linen with a brass bangle on her wrist. It suited her colouring.
‘Wow,’ I said, ‘what a transformation. I love your outfit.’ She walked to the mirror and as she put on her earrings she saw my reflection in the mirror. She turned round and said, ‘You look good yourself. I was wondering earlier – if that dress you’re wearing, is it vintage? It shows off your figure.’
I stood up, smoothed down the dress, smiling. ‘You think so? It’s a bit short and it may look old, but it’s not. It’s a copy of the “land girl” style, modelled on the dresses of the forties. I picked it up from some fashion show. I guess they used to go out jitterbugging wearing this style.’
‘Well, it very much suits you and I like the padded shoulders.’
She walked past, leaving a trail of perfume behind her and sat down in one of the chairs.
‘What’s that perfume?’
‘Something Gareth bought me. I always forget the name. It’s French, that’s all I remember.’
‘Gareth. I’m surprised that you two, in a way, are still together, despite everything. You must have something going.’
‘You can’t live with someone like Gareth for that long and not grow to love him. He’s a good man.’
‘I know that, he is a good man.’ She laughed. ‘What’s funny?’ I asked.
‘Nothing. Just…resistance in the face of enemy action. I’ve got eyes and ears you know.’
I wondered then how much he’d told her, but I didn’t really want to know. I felt embarrassed as I remembered that last scene a year ago in the forest. I looked away.
She stood up. ‘I’ll have to be off.’
‘Are you driving?’
‘Yes, I’ll stay the night with Tim. Will you be alright on your own?’
‘I will. I love it here, it holds happy memories, besides you’re usually here on your own and you don’t get scared. Who’s Tim?’
‘My latest. I met him in the library. Cardiff.’
‘You don’t care, do you, you know, what people might think?’
‘No. I don’t care about convention, if that’s what you mean, but what about you, Anya? Your love life, it seems non-existent. You tell me nothing. Do you really live like a nun? You shouldn’t be on your own. What happened to the boy you used to play with years ago? The one round here? The one you were with when you almost drowned; you were like brother and sister together.’
It was my turn to laugh. ‘You mean Ifan? If only you
knew. He disappeared but then, years later, turned up. We’re good friends, but nothing more. I see a lot of him, but maybe not enough.’
‘That sounds mysterious, so what’s going on? Anything or nothing?’
‘There isn’t any more to tell you. Actually, maybe there is, but it’s long and complicated.’
I didn’t know whether to tell her or not about my problems. We stood facing each other. Philomena sensed my discomfort, took my hand and said, ‘I do want to hear about it, but when I have more time. I have to go. Sure you won’t come?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘Well, if you change your mind, ring me. I’d like you to meet Tim.’ She blew me a kiss, left the room, the
front door banged, and she drove off. I heard the car crunching the gravel as she left.
I sat for a while in the kitchen enjoying the peace and quiet, thinking about the summers I’d spent there, my elbows on the table, my chin in my hands. I missed those times. I remembered the past meals we’d shared outside on the lawn, trips to the estuary, watching the rise and fall of the river, meeting Ifan, climbing trees with him. It was so peaceful… until my dreams were interrupted by the geese. The racket they were making pulled me back into the present. Something or somebody had disturbed them. They were honking, hissing, loudly, aggressively. I pulled the door open and glared at them. But they ignored me. I ran at them. They scattered, but soon came back together and huddled in a tight circle of resentment. I thought there must be somebody there and I looked around, but I couldn’t see anybody.
I walked across the damp grass until I reached the orchard. The orchard had always been a favourite place. The sculpture of Leda, the one I hadn’t liked, had been removed. I imagined Gareth sitting under the apple trees in the orchard drinking cider and writing his poetry. Writing poetry and drinking cider – they went together for Gareth.
I sat in his old chair still under his favourite tree, listening to the evening bird song, watching the sun dipping low in the sky until it was almost too late to visit the estuary, but I was determined to go.
I went to the outbuilding and looked for my old bike. It was still there. I wiped the dust off the saddle, blew up the tyres, went back to the kitchen, made myself a flask of coffee and within half an hour I was cycling down the back lanes. I didn’t bother to change, there was no time. I felt the exhilaration of the air rushing past my legs as I sped along. There was no traffic and it was still warm. It was twilight by the time I reached the estuary. I looked for the place and the trees where Ifan and I used to hide our bikes, but it was impossible to locate. The new car park concealed where it could have been. One solitary car remained but it didn’t unduly concern me. It probably belonged to someone fishing or a couple taking a late-evening walk.
I propped my bike out of sight against a tree and slowly followed the path down to the river. The old willow was still there, its feathery branches trailing the surface of the water. It was where we’d played, and where I’d first seen Ifan launch his frog on the raft. I took off my sandals and dangled my feet in the water. It was cool, the river running fast, the tide on the turn. Across the river I could see the fields and distant lights of England. I wanted to stay until darkness enclosed the estuary and I fell asleep and became part of its silence. I lay back, enjoying the warmth and the solitude and closed my eyes.
I became aware of every sound. A twig cracked. Someone was walking through the woods. I sat up and waited. But there was nobody. Nothing, except the shrill startled alarm of a blackbird. I got to my feet. I heard then a song sung so quietly and so softly, it was difficult to hear except as the singer came nearer, the song became louder. I recognised the song, I recognised the voice. I’d first heard it years ago, the day I met Ifan. ‘Calon Lân’.
I waited for him to emerge through the forest. He smiled
when he saw me. I felt shy standing barefoot in my pink dress looking hot and dirty after my bike ride. But I was aware that evening of his strong physical presence, his height, his tan, his light grey eyes. He came to a halt. We stood facing each other.
‘I thought you weren’t coming to Wales.’ He didn’t answer. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’
‘I changed my mind and I wanted to surprise you. I guessed you’d come here…besides I wanted to see the river myself.’ He picked up a small stone and passed it from one hand to the other and back again, watching me as he did so.
‘You’ve been following me. It was you. Wasn’t it? You disturbed the geese.’ He smiled, but didn’t answer. ‘It’s a bad habit, stalking,’ I said.
He threw the stone into the air, caught it, then said, ‘You think so?’
‘I know so…where are you staying?’
‘Chepstow.’
‘It’s getting dark.’
‘Yes. But I’m in a car.’
‘Well, now you’re here, before you go, you could see the farmhouse. You never did get to see it before. There’s only me there, so you don’t have to be sociable.’
He dropped the stone, folded his arms and looking straight at me said, ‘Why not, it’s on my way.’ He seemed indifferent but I ignored that. I was pleased he was coming.
‘I’ll race you. I’m on my bike and I know a quick way.’
‘No, you won’t. I want you with me. And the bike can go in the boot.’
His directness took me by surprise. I didn’t answer straight away. ‘Okay, I’ll show you where it is.’
‘I know where it is. I saw where you left it.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I might have known.’ I pushed him playfully. I wanted us to joke about like we used to, and I thought he would, because he smiled, pulled me against him but then he let me go, as if he’d had second thoughts. I was puzzled. There was something different about him. He seemed pre-
occupied and I didn’t understand what was going on. We reached the car.
He put my bike in the boot. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, as he opened the car door.
‘Nothing, I’m not thinking anything. Do you know how to get there?’
‘Of course. I’ve had a good teacher.’
I didn’t answer but sat in the front staring straight ahead. I was wondering whether his reference to ‘having a good teacher’ was to the Etta James song ‘Teach Me Tonight’ or to my stalking. He drove without speaking but I was keenly aware of his presence. Every now and again he’d turn to steal a look and that made me self-conscious. I pulled my dress over my knees.
It was dark when we arrived, the house still warm from the heat of the day. We walked into the kitchen. I clicked on the lights.
‘There’s nobody in. Philomena’s out and Gareth’s left. He spends his time between here and with Chloe and Ceri, his daughter. This is his second home.’
‘Where’s his first?’
‘In the mountains. He writes his poetry here, in the orchard if the weather’s good, that’s his favourite place. I’ll show you around.’
We wandered through each of the downstairs rooms. It still smelt of wood smoke, it was still full of quirky objects, strange pictures. I still loved it.
He said, ‘It’s full of eccentricities.’
I said, ‘No, it’s a house filled with the surreal. That’s different.’
‘Eccentric, surreal, either or both, it’s weird,’ he said, ‘but whatever rocks their boat.’
We returned to the kitchen. ‘Like a coffee?’
He nodded and sat down in one of the sagging armchairs.
‘You used to talk so much about your mother, and Gaby, was that her name? What’s happened to them?’
‘My mother has a partner so she’s off my case, and Gaby,
I don’t know about. It’s a shame we’ve lost contact with her.’ Ifan sat watching as I rinsed out the Bodum, ground fresh coffee, and poured boiling water over it. I waited for it to percolate and stood in front of him, leaning against the table.
‘I’ve never been here before on my own, not at night.’
‘Scared?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So why mention it?’
A good question, I thought. Maybe I wanted him to stay a while but I didn’t say that. I just shrugged my shoulders.
‘Dunno,’ I said.
‘Where’s Philomena?’
‘Somewhere in Chepstow. She said I could ring if I wanted to join her.’
‘I can give you a lift.’
‘I was going to stay here.’
‘Fine, if that’s what you want. What about the rest of the house? You haven’t shown me upstairs.’
I
looked at him, warily. ‘I’ll show you later but I need to eat and I want to shower, get rid of the bike-ride dust. I’m hot and sticky.’
‘Which way round, eat or shower?’
‘Shower.’
‘Good, while you shower, I’ll make the food.’ He stood up.
‘But you don’t know what to make or where everything is.’
‘I’ll find out. How long will you be?’
‘Ten, fifteen minutes, thirty minutes. It depends. You’ll stay then?’
‘Is that an invite?’
‘Yes.’
‘Great. I’m in no rush. Have your shower and take your coffee with you.’
‘It can wait, I won’t be long.’
‘I’ll put it in your room.’
‘You don’t know where it is.’
‘I’ll work that out too. I’m good at that type of thing.’
‘Finding a girl’s bedroom? I’d noticed.’ He smiled.
I ran upstairs to my bedroom and pulled off my dress. I was hot. I hadn’t packed many clothes and I was in one of those moods when I didn’t know what to wear. In desperation I opened the wardrobe and found a dress I’d left years ago. It was perfect for this weather, a sun dress, blue, floaty, strappy, pretty, not the type I wore now, but it would do. I lay it flat on the bed, took out my Coco Mademoiselle, wrapped myself with a towel and made my way up the stairs to the bathroom. It was even hotter at the top of the house, and just like a sauna.
I loved that bathroom. It was huge. It was built into the roof space and designed by Philomena. It had a roof lantern with hanging plants, but Philomena called it a wet room because of the walk-in shower in the corner. She’d said that creating a steamy atmosphere was good for the plants and they deserved a treat now and again, because like people they shouldn’t be neglected. The floor was in terracotta with tiny insets of small colourful Mexican tiles, the walls rough plastered in deep blue, and there was an old-fashioned white bath with claw feet underneath the roof lantern. It was very arty and as a child I’d lie in the bath and imagine I was in a tropical rain forest.
My Name Is Echo Page 27
