Kitty narrowed her eyes at her; they both knew it was all a bit glib and rehearsed. ‘“Will you?”’ she mused, reading out the motto on the next Love Heart.
Looks as if she already had, thought Coralie, watching the way her hand fluttered lightly over her stomach.
Adam sidled in, rubbing his hands. ‘Getting excited about the twmpath then, girls?’
Wearing a perma-tan and a red twill Superdry lumberjack shirt over scruffy jeans, his bleached-blond hair casually tousled, he clearly fancied himself as a right little Jack-the-Lad. She glanced at Kitty to see if she was sneering and was taken aback by her wistful expression.
‘What is a twmpath, anyway?’ she asked, still looking at Kitty and wondering what was going on.
‘It’s Welsh for hump,’ said Adam evilly. ‘As in hillock,’ he added as Coralie blinked at him in alarm. ‘It’s a reference to where the musicians sat when they were playing for dancers on the village green. Now it’s just the term for a Welsh barn dance.’
‘It’s just the kind of thing that gives Wales a bad name,’ said Kitty, visibly pulling herself together and glaring at Adam to make it plain that included him, too.
‘So you won’t be going then?’ Adam asked, coolly.
Coralie watched as Kitty held his gaze then straightened her top before turning away. ‘Only in so far as that I’m helping Mam,’ she said, her bangles tinkling as she picked up her broom again.
‘You mean you’re getting paid by your parents to do bugger all as usual?’ he taunted.
Kitty swiped at the floor and when she looked up again her face was flushed with annoyance. ‘Well, I certainly won’t be going for the dancing, especially not with you clumping on everyone’s toes in your gardening boots.’
‘You know, I liked you better before you went away,’ Adam said softly, going up behind her, ‘when we could still have a laugh and a joke.’
‘You can’t be a clown all your life,’ Kitty muttered. ‘Some of us have moved on.’
Coralie heard Adam swear under his breath and felt a bit sorry for him. His assessment didn’t seem too wide of the mark. Kitty had moved to Cardiff in September, a few months after Coralie arrived in Penmorfa. Her experience in the city had apparently made her feel that in terms of sophistication, she had left Adam behind. Getting herself pregnant there had probably made her a bit prickly, too.
‘Now Coralie,’ Adam went on, turning his back on Kitty, ‘isn’t the kind of girl to look down her nose at us like that. She’s got some manners.’
‘Oh no, you leave me out of this,’ said Coralie, backing towards the door. ‘Three in this row would make it crowded.’
‘Who’s rowing?’ said Adam. ‘You’re not too proud to be seen with me, are you, Coralie? You’ll dance with me, won’t you?’
Coralie waited for Kitty to rescue her; she’d happily agreed to donate a basketful of her products for the raffle, but was less enthusiastic about putting herself on show, too.
‘You should go.’ Kitty shrugged, pushing her long dark hair away from her face and lifting her chin. ‘You won’t have to worry about getting stuck with Adam all evening. Everyone gets to dance with everyone else. Plenty of variety, just what Adam likes. It’s another of those quaint Welsh customs everyone has to try once.’
‘A bit like me.’ Adam grinned.
‘You’ll be single forever at this rate,’ Kitty told her, making Coralie feel she was seventeen years older rather than seven. ‘You can’t keep shutting yourself away. We’ve seen enough incomers who want to escape to the country and then don’t like the reality. Besides, you know how pleased Mam would be to see you there. She needs a bit of cheering up.’
Coralie gave a shrug of resignation. The last thing she wanted was for the people who had accepted her into their community thinking she was too proud to join in. As for Alys? She could think of many reasons for a certain amount of tension in the Bowen home, one of which was right in front of her. Or rather, right in front of Kitty. Going to the twmpath wasn’t going to ease that particular difficulty.
Chapter Six
In the garden centre, a few days later when the bitter weather had given way to a milder spell, Alys moved over to water another display and brushed some soil from a label. Their plant of the month was Hebe, chosen for its range of varieties and because it was such an accommodating shrub happy to grow in a patio pot or in open borders. She particularly liked the stunning pink foliage of ‘Heartbreaker’ although the name was a painful reminder that, like frost under hedges, some cold spots took longer to thaw.
‘Alys?’
A tentative hand touched her shoulder, sending a jet of water from the hosepipe in her hand arcing over the raised bed. A small stream, bubbling down the concrete path, revealed how long she’d been standing there.
‘You were in another world,’ said Gethin, scrutinising her. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Gethin!’ she said, putting her private sadness away and pasting on a smile as she went to turn the tap off, ‘any luck with finding a builder yet?’
He shook his head. ‘They must all be millionaires round here, no one seems to want to quote.’
Alys wondered if there was more to it than that. Penmorfa hadn’t exactly rushed to kill the fatted calf for this prodigal son, although his reappearance in the village had certainly attracted attention. With those looks he was impossible to miss. She watched as he put his hands in the pockets of his old leather jacket and shifted his glance to where the spangled frosty fields tumbled down to the cliffs and ivory foam fringed the turquoise waves.
‘There’s no rush with the holiday cottage, you know that,’ she said. ‘You can stay for as long as you need.’
He shook his head. ‘If I don’t get back to New York for my next exhibition soon my reputation will be in shreds.’
Alys opened her mouth and he grinned.
‘Yeah, I know – home from home.’
She reached out and touched his arm. ‘It’s not really like that, Gethin. Believe me. Most people are very proud of what you’ve achieved and anyone else isn’t worth bothering about. Look at how you’ve made a name for yourself in the big wide world. Next thing you know everyone’ll be clamouring for a permanent exhibition here to celebrate your achievements.’
‘Achievements!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t think so, Alys. As far as Penmorfa’s concerned, people are still waiting for me to get my come-uppance for daring to believe there was a bigger world for me than the family farm.’
‘Life moves on, even in Penmorfa, Gethin. Attitudes change.’
He laughed as he reached past her to pull up a weed that was interloping in one of the pots.
‘No, really,’ said Alys. ‘There are all kinds of initiatives springing up in the village: Neighbourhood Watch—’
‘That’s not new,’ said Gethin.
Alys pressed on. ‘Keep Penmorfa Tidy, Welsh classes, the Quilting Group—’
‘Stitch and bitch,’ muttered Gethin, shaking his head.
Alys glared at him. ‘And following the success of last year’s Valentine’s Twmpath, there’s even a demand for dance classes.’
Gethin grimaced. ‘Nice try, Alys, but you’re not tempting me to move back.’
She flicked a toe at the hosepipe curled up at her feet, in frustration, dodging a tongue of water as it spurted out at her. She couldn’t let Gethin leave without at least trying to get him on board.
The Church’s surprising decision to hand the church hall over to a management committee for use as a community resource was a poisoned chalice, even the Vicar agreed. On first sight, it was great news that the everyday use of the hall was in the hands of the people who mattered, the people of Penmorfa. Looked at closer, though, and there were onerous duties, not just for financial responsibilities, but requirements to get the building up to scratch, and then to keep it in an acceptable state of repair.
‘I’m not asking you to move back, Gethin, but I do need your help.’
His
eyes narrowed. ‘With what?’
‘Don’t look like that.’ She laughed. ‘It’s just a small favour. At the moment, we don’t even have a suitable building for all these community activities to take place, but there are a number of grants we can apply for if we renovate the church hall. In the meantime, we’re hoping to secure a short-term loan of say, about thirty thousand pounds.’
‘A bridging loan? Won’t that be too expensive?’
‘Not if we get it from ACORN, a charity offering financial support to rural communities. And it would enable us to kick-start the rebuilding work until the grants come through. We’re looking at total costs in the region of about one hundred and fifty thousand, but we’ll need some willing volunteers and a lot of fund-raising events to pay for it. We’re making a start with this year’s Valentine’s dance and all I need you to do is to come along and draw the raffle.’
She saw the shutters come down and his lips start to form the refusal. She took a deep breath. ‘Please. We’ve a huge task ahead of us for a small village and right now we can’t even agree on the membership of the Hall Management Committee.’
‘Let me guess who’s causing all the problems.’
‘Well, Mair’s made it plain that she expects to take the Chair, whereas other people have hinted they’d like to see someone with, shall we say, a more forward-looking approach.’
‘Someone like you, you mean?’
Alys nodded. ‘Obviously, if you have to return to the States before the raffle, we’ll work round it. I’m sure Delyth will be only too happy for Hefin to step in, but it’s not much to ask and a community hall on the doorstep would serve such an important role in reducing isolation. Think of what it would mean to those vulnerable, frail and elderly people who would otherwise be stuck in their homes.’
People like his mother, she didn’t need to spell out. Gethin had moved away but had yet to make his name when Katrin became ill. Unkind voices sometimes linked the two events, even though Gethin had visited as often as his father would allow. Poor Katrin, overruled by her husband even during her final illness; she’d been so grateful for the respite of the occasional coffee morning, despite the painful chill of the draughty church hall which was so hard for her gaunt frame to bear.
‘It’s a win-win, isn’t it?’ she continued softly. ‘You can prove to the doubters that you’re not such a bad guy after all, and the publicity will help draw attention to our cause.’
She watched as he gave a wry smile and held up his hands in resignation. ‘Yeah, all right, Alys, next thing you’ll be telling me I can walk on water, too. I’ll draw the raffle for you.’
‘Good.’ She nodded. ‘And I’ll get Huw to chase up the builders for you. He ought to be able to find someone who wants to do the job.’
Her reassuring smile faded as Gethin gave a short laugh before thanking her and walking away. Yes, Huw ought to be able to help, but the question was, would he? She touched her hand to the deep pink leaves of ‘Heartbreaker’. These days she was no longer sure.
Another advantage of moving to Penmorfa, thought Coralie, as she sat watching the sea after work, was that she’d saved a fortune on gym membership. The beach was a short walk away, a steep descent past the ever-changing hedgerows of the country lanes on the way down, and a challenging push uphill all the way back. If she’d ever toyed with the idea of getting a bike, the sight of even the fittest cyclists having to dismount had quickly put her off.
As for running? There were two very good reasons why she’d never been much of a runner and they were sitting right in front of her; until someone invented the sports bra that would control the bounce, fast walking was a far more comfortable activity. Her waist and hips, though, were noticeably slimmer than in her consultancy days when the sober black suits had been good for hiding the inches that had crept on during the long working weeks and too much snacking on the run.
Noticing feathery grey clouds gathering and staunching the red seep of the setting sun, Coralie lowered herself stiffly off the rock and set off across the beach for home and warmth. Reaching the top of the stone steps, she saw a figure, barely more than a silhouette in the fading light, waiting by the old lime kiln. Walking briskly to the footpath, she was startled as something she quickly recognised as a wire-haired Jack Russell shot out in front of her and gave a bad-tempered growl.
‘Edith, you monster,’ she muttered knowing better than to risk a finger or two petting the grumpy, pompous little dog.
‘Edith!’ shouted Huw. ‘Come back this minute! Sorry, bach, I didn’t see you down there. I was just watching one of the dolphins. See there!’
A black coil rose up and disappeared again under the slatey sea and they turned to each other in childlike satisfaction.
‘I’ve been watching them since I was a little boy,’ Huw said, grinning. ‘And I still feel that same sense of wonder every time I’m privileged enough to see one. ’
‘Me, too,’ agreed Coralie. ‘The day I don’t, I’ll know it’ll be time to move on.’
Huw glanced at her. ‘You’re not thinking of leaving us just yet, are you, lovely?’
‘Oh no,’ she said, crossing her fingers in her pocket and hoping it was true, ‘I’m very happy here. It feels like home.’
‘Pity more young people don’t think that round here,’ he said sadly. ‘But what can we offer them? The youngsters don’t have anywhere to meet up or to build a sense of belonging and when they grow up they can’t find jobs or houses so they have to move away. Take us, we’ve got young Kitty home at the moment. She’ll want to make her own way in the world, but she’s got an uphill struggle from what I can see.’
How much could Huw see? Was he really as unobservant as Alys seemed to think? Coralie wondered. They both turned at the sound of footsteps and Coralie sighed inwardly at choosing rush hour in Penmorfa Cove for her quiet break.
‘And here’s another one who had to leave the place where he grew up to make his way in the world,’ he told her, sounding not altogether pleased about it. He turned to the younger man whilst Edith yapped round his feet. ‘So, Gethin, you don’t get sights like this in the Big Apple, do you?’
‘No, not quite the same,’ Gethin agreed, his gaze travelling lazily over Coralie. Probably making sure he wasn’t about to come to any harm, she thought, still feeling a bit embarrassed at how close she’d already come, on two occasions now, to mutilating the man who’d created Last Samba before Sunset. Although, from what she’d read, it looked as if one or two art critics might be cheering if she’d managed to prevent him picking up a brush.
‘How’s it going up at Gwyn’s cottage?’ Huw asked gruffly. ‘I understand you’re looking for a builder. There’s not that much needs doing to it, surely? Or you’d have known about it sooner, wouldn’t you?’
There was the briefest of pauses before Gethin replied. ‘I can see how someone might be fooled by the outside of the cottage,’ he said slowly. ‘But the real damage occurred after I’d moved my father out, during that cold snap when he started to go really downhill. It’s pretty much uninhabitable at the moment.’
‘Duw, duw!’ said Huw.
‘Good God, indeed. It doesn’t quite capture it, but it’s close enough,’ Gethin agreed. ‘It’s a waste to have the place standing empty like that when it could be a great family home.’
‘Yes, that’s what this place needs,’ Huw said, sounding much more cheerful. ‘Young couples, children. A bit of life in the community. You’ll need someone reliable to do the work. I’ll put the word out. See who we can find.’
‘I’d appreciate it,’ said Gethin, his stomach rumbling loudly.
‘No, not you, Edith,’ Huw went on, dragging her off Gethin’s jeans. ‘We know there’s plenty of life in you!’
Gethin was looking quite frisky too, Coralie couldn’t help notice.
‘Well,’ said Huw, ‘Alys and I were planning a meal at The Cabin up at Abersaith this evening, but Alys isn’t feeling too good.’
‘Oh that�
�s a shame,’ said Coralie, genuinely concerned, but scenting an opportunity to escape. ‘It must have been sudden. She seemed fine when I spoke to her earlier. Would a visitor cheer her up?’
‘I think she’s got a bit of women’s trouble,’ Huw said, neatly halting further lines of enquiry. ‘Anyway, the hotel restaurant – wonderful food they do there now, Gethin. You wouldn’t recognise the place.’
Even in the half-light Coralie could see he wasn’t convinced, but then he was used to New York and schlepping down to Buddakan or a trendy bistro in Manhattan’s meatpacking district or some other hip and happening joint, she thought, running out of Sex and the City hotspots. Welsh cuisine probably wasn’t sexy enough for him now, but once you got over the sight of laver bread and cockles, all that iodine was supposed to do wonders for your love life. On the other hand, Gethin Lewis didn’t look like a man who needed any chemical crutch to boost his libido.
‘It would be a terrible shame to waste the table,’ Huw went on slyly. ‘Why don’t you two take it? You haven’t been there, have you, Coralie?’
Coralie knew she could lie, but she was out of practice and Huw had caught her off guard. Anyway, Gethin wouldn’t want to go so she didn’t have to worry.
‘Excellent idea, Huw,’ said Gethin, making her blink. ‘We’ll do that.’
‘Eight o’clock suit you?’ said Huw. ‘I mean, it’s eight o’clock we booked for.’
What else could she do? ‘Eight o’clock,’ she repeated, neatly trapped.
‘Right you are then,’ said Huw. ‘Enjoy! Edith!’
He strode off into the gloom with Edith scampering along beside him. Coralie made sure he was out of earshot before she turned to Gethin, who stopped her with a smile before she could speak.
Move Over Darling Page 6
