by Tanwen Coyne
JENNIFER WAS WRAPPED IN warmth. Her head felt fuzzy and her ears throbbed from the effects of the alcohol the day before. She buried herself in her blankets and kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want to face the world out there with its consequences, she just wanted to stay there and dream.
Under the covers, she ran a hand down her body, stroking her own waist, hips and thighs. She wanted to bring the dreams, the touch of her dream lover. She tried to imagine what her face might look like. She wanted to see her, not just feel her touch like an echo. She stroked herself, her hand moving surely between her legs. Bringing herself soft pleasure with her own fingers, she imagined it was another’s fingers. That ghostly touch. She wanted it. She needed it. It was not there.
Jennifer opened her eyes and sighed. It was no good. She couldn’t summon the image, couldn’t force the feeling. It hadn’t left her for good, had it? She needed her ghostly lover.
She lay still for a long time, until she realised she had been hearing music. It was the piano, soft mournful notes filling the little cottage. As she listened, choked-up sobs joined the music.
Jennifer pulled on her dressing gown and went to investigate. The rest of the house was dark and still but for the piano. Bright sunlight was streaming in through the bay windows; lighting up the old wood and making it shine. The music played on, full of despair. This time, the piano keys were moving.
Jennifer placed her hand on top of the piano and felt the vibrations within it. Choked sobs drifted over the music. Jennifer wanted to reach out, wrap the mourner in her arms. She knew it was her ghostly lover.
‘Please don’t be sad,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here.’
The barely held back sobs stopped suddenly along with the music. In the silence, Jennifer could hear her lover listening to her.
‘You’re so far away,’ Jennifer whispered. The distance of years lay between them. ‘I wish I could hold you, make it all better.’
Fingers reaching out for her cheek, fingertips sliding over soft skin. A smile. She cannot see it; there is no face and no body. But she can feel it. A smile, just for her.
Jennifer turned her cheek into the soft caress. It was real. She knew it was real.
‘I’m not leaving,’ she whispered into the still but not empty silence. ‘I’m staying here with you.’
She sat on the piano stool, next to her lover and watched as the keys began to move again and a now familiar song filled the room.
Cenwych yn llafar i’r Arglwydd, yr holl ddaear!
Gwasanaethwch yr Arglwydd mewn llawenydd!
Deuwch yn ei wydd ef mewn gorfoledd!
Gwybyddwch mai yr Arglwydd sy Dduw!
Efe a’ n gwnaeth, ac nid ni ein hunain;
Ei bobl ef ydym a defaid ei borfa.
Ewch i mewn i’w byrth ef â dïolch,
Ac i’w lysoedd â moliant gennych
Dïolchwch iddo, a chlodforwch ei Enw!
Canys daionus yw yr Arglwydd;
A’i drugaredd sydd yn dragywydd,
A’i wirionedd a bery o genhedlaeth i genhedlaeth byth.
She knew the soft Welsh song so well now, she could sing the words she didn’t understand. Her lover wasn’t singing now, so Jennifer sang for her and felt the comfort the song brought them both.
Arianwen sits forlornly at her piano, stroking the keys and hoping for some comfort from her music. But she cannot bring herself to play.
Her parents have left her alone. Since she returned home that day, in a state of despair, they have tried to jolly her along, tried to force her to go out as normal. But now they have given up. She cannot even tell them what has happened. She knows she can never be who they want her to be, can never fill the role of dutiful daughter. She is stuck with her own body, her loneliness and her sinful desires. Blodwyn had been her hope. Now, that is gone. She is a sinner and Blodwyn knows.
She closes her eyes and touches her fingers to the piano keys. They are smooth under her touch. She caresses them, longing for comfort in their familiarity.
She begins to play, just to play and let her fingers carry the tune. The keys cry beneath her touch, reflecting her own sadness. Mournful music seeps out into the air around her.
A sob rises up in her throat and she chokes it down. She does not want to cry, not over Blodwyn. The sunlight shines in on her, lighting up her piano. It should cheer her, remind her there is a world out there and more to live for. But it doesn’t.
Arianwen can no longer hold back the sobs. They spill out over the music. She is alone. She is always going to be alone. She knows this.
A hand on top of her piano, a soft presence in the room. ‘Please don’t be sad. I’m here.’
Arianwen does not hear the words. They simply arrive in her head, throb in her chest. Her tears stop and she listens, strains hard. She wants to hear the voice again.
‘You’re so far away. I wish I could hold you, make it all better.’
Arianwen reaches out to the shadow she can see. It is the shadow of a young woman. She can see the shoulder-length dark hair, softly curling. It is the only detail she can pick out. Her fingers cup a soft cheek. She can feel the skin beneath her fingertips.
She smiles. She is not alone. The shadow turns her cheek into Arianwen’s touch, a lover’s touch.
‘I’m not leaving. I’m staying with you.’
The shadow moves, sits beside her at the piano. Arianwen smiles again and begins to play. Her favourite hymn, Make a Joyful Noise, resounds out into the little room. She cannot find her voice enough to sing but soft, slightly awkward, singing arrives in her head and makes her chest throb again.
Cenwych yn llafar i’r Arglwydd, yr holl ddaear!
Gwasanaethwch yr Arglwydd mewn llawenydd!
Deuwch yn ei wydd ef mewn gorfoledd!
Gwybyddwch mai yr Arglwydd sy Dduw!
Together, they are making a joyful noise but not for God. It is for each other that they fill the room with gladness.
Chapter Five
IT WAS THE WEEKEND. Saturday, Ceris had the day off and had invited Jennifer shopping. Jennifer wanted to go. She still had those canvases to order after all but it felt all wrong. She couldn’t explain it. That morning, thinking about what lay ahead, she’d sketched. The picture had come out dark, a swirling mass of smoke-grey pencil lines. She could feel them swirling inside her now, a heaving whirlpool going round and round in her stomach.
She didn’t want to leave the house, didn’t want to get a taxi into the city with Ceris. Yet there she was, bumbling along the old track from the village. At first, they didn’t talk. But the closer they got to town, the smoother the ride was and Ceris began to make conversation. Ceris was a bubbly, chatty girl. She asked Jennifer about her artwork and Jennifer gave satisfactory answers, but her mind was elsewhere.
‘What’s the matter?’ Ceris asked.
‘Nothing. Sorry.’ She glanced at Ceris and gave a flat smile, before returning to gazing out of the window.
‘Are you feeling funny again?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Maybe you’re travelsick,’ Ceris said brightly. ‘My mam always gets travel sick. She wears these wristbands, which help. Don’t you have anything like that?’
‘I’m not travelsick. I’ve got things on my mind.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No, thanks.’
Ceris bit her lip. ‘It was a shame we had to cut our night out short, wasn’t it? I was having fun.’
Jennifer didn’t answer. She had to tell Ceris but how could she? She was just a young girl; maybe she hadn’t even been in love before. Jennifer was an expert in this: meeting someone, having a little fun and maybe some sex, then before you know it, one of you is ending it. It was always the same. And there was always one who was left hurt, lovelorn and lonely. Jennifer didn’t want to do that to Ceris but she didn’t see how she could do anything else.
Ceris touched her arm lightly. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘We had some fun. And we can have fun again
today, right?’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’
Ceris bit her lip and fell silent.
At lunchtime, they found a coffee shop. Bags of shopping sat at their feet, leaning against the table leg.
Jennifer stirred her coffee listlessly. It was now or never.
‘I hope this sun holds out,’ said Ceris. ‘I want to go to the beach tomorrow. You should come, you know. The sea in Cilfachglas Cove is gorgeous. Real still and it catches the sun. If it’s hot out, then the sea is warm too. You don’t get much wind with all those cliffs around.’
‘We need to talk.’
Ceris laughed. ‘Don’t sound so serious! You sound like you’re about to break up with me.’
Jennifer squirmed. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
Ceris’s face fell. ‘So you are breaking up with me.’
‘We’re not girlfriends, we just went out together one time. Ceris, I’m really sorry. It doesn’t feel right.’
‘I thought you liked me!’
‘I do like you. I think we could be good friends. But dating you doesn’t feel right.’
‘Is it because I’m not a proper lesbian?’
‘What?’
‘I could be dykier. Let’s give it another go.’
‘It’s nothing you’ve done, I promise.’
‘So, you’re just a bitch then?’
‘If you want to think of me like that, fine. I would like to be your friend though.’
‘I’ve got plenty of friends. I don’t need you.’ Ceris gathered up her shopping bags and stormed out of the shop, leaving behind her coffee and her lunch, both untouched.
Arianwen sits alone in her bedroom. The noises of the house, her mother preparing food and doing her daily dusting, her father loudly practising his upcoming sermon, wash over her.
She gazes out of her window. She cannot see the bakery but her eyes fix on the top of the hill. Beyond lies town, the bakery and Blodwyn. Arianwen knows she cannot have her now, not ever but still cannot cast the thought of her aside.
She rises, fetches her pen and ink and her writing paper. Allowing her gaze to wander between the window and her paper, she writes.
My dearest Blodwyn,
You are not mine. You were never mine. You hate me now; you think I am a sinner. You look at me with disgust. I am sorry I gave you my letter. I should have known you could never love me.
We were children together. Do you remember? We used to play together. I remember racing you down the hill to the beach. You always won.
I have always followed you. I have always been behind you, struggling to catch up. You barely even looked at me yet I fell for you. I know I should leave you behind now but I cannot. I love you and I can never stop.
I can never stop following you.
Your Arianwen
Arianwen rested her pen in her inkpot and read over her letter. She could never give Blodwyn another letter but neither could she let them go, not this one, nor those hidden under her floorboards.
She folded the letter neatly and slid it into the envelope under the floor with the others. The letters would stay there and so would the love in her heart. She would keep it hidden away, a shameful secret.
On the bus home, Jennifer glared out of the window. Ceris hated her now. They couldn’t be friends, not after all this. She sighed. Her dad had so longed for her to find a nice girl and settle down. But he had died without seeing her sorted out, as he put it. That had always been her dad’s aim for her, to get her sorted out with a good job and a partner.
She glanced around at the bus. Everybody seemed to be partnered up. Across from her a teenage couple in black hoodies held hands and talked softly to each other. In front of her, an elderly couple bickered in a friendly sort of way about whether to have the sausages or the chops for tea. They all had someone. Jennifer had someone; she just couldn’t be with her.
The bus pulled into Cilfachglas bus stop and Jennifer disembarked, thanking the driver. No one else got off there and there was nobody around at the bus stop either.
She walked through the village. Mrs Evans was hobbling about but Jennifer sped past, avoiding being spotted. The little girl who had told Jennifer about the haunting was playing with a skipping rope, as her mother read a book on a nearby bench.
As Jennifer passed, the little girl called out. ‘Have you seen the ghost yet?’
Jennifer shook her head. ‘No. That house is definitely not haunted,’ she lied.
The girl laughed. ‘Definitely is!’
Jennifer shrugged and kept on walking. She couldn’t summon the will or the energy to indulge the child.
Alone in the house, Arianwen sits at her piano to play. She plays without singing for a while, just letting the music take her away. An emptiness seems to echo in the space around her and she is desperate to fill it.
She does not know where her parents had gone, did not hear them leave. They just are not there. Arianwen is glad to be without them. Alone, she can sink into her own despair. She does not have to pretend, to force a smile or sing bright songs.
She sits in darkness, no candle lighting the room. Only her music fills the space. As she plays, her mind wanders and her thoughts drift to her ghostly lover. She is a figment, Arianwen knows this, yet she does not care. She is her sweet secret, to caress when she is alone.
She reaches out and can almost feel the soft cheek of her lover beneath her fingertips. Unbidden, her mouth forms words and her throat gives them sound.
Ar lan y môr mae rhosys chochion
Ar lan y môr mae lilis gwynion
She feels her lover listening.
Jennifer dumped her shopping in the hall, then went through to her bedroom. She kicked off her shoes and climbed under the covers, still fully dressed.
‘That did not go well,’ she said to the empty room.
It wasn’t an empty room.
A finger trails across her cheek, warm breath on her face.
‘I wish I could hear your voice. I’ve heard you singing but …’
Suddenly, the singing was there again: a soft, sweet voice singing Welsh words in her ear. They were sung so softly, it was almost a whisper.
Ar lan y môr mae rhosys chochion
Ar lan y môr mae lilis gwynion
Ar lan y môr mae ‘nghariad inne
Yn cysgu’r nos a choddi’r bore.
‘I don’t even know what that means,’ Jennifer said. ‘I wish I could understand.’ She turned on her side and gazed at the place she knew her lover was. There was not the slightest image of her but Jennifer knew she was there. She could feel her.
The voice came again, soft and sweet but this time it was only a whisper.
Beside the sea there are red roses
Beside the sea there’re lovely lillies
Beside the sea my sweetheart lives
Asleep at night, awake at morning.
‘Sweetheart,’ Jennifer repeated. She turned the word over and over on her tongue. ‘Sweetheart, sweetheart. What word is that? Tell me the welsh.’
‘Cariad’, came the voice. ‘Ar lan y môr mae ‘nghariad inne. Beside the sea my sweetheart lives.’
Jennifer turned her face into the warmth she could feel. ‘Am I your sweetheart? Or is there someone else? Who are you? Who do you see when you look at me? Who do you touch when I feel your caress?’
There was silence. Jennifer listened hard. She could feel no caress, no gaze upon her face, and she could hear no voice. There was silence.
Hot breath of a kiss on her cheek, whispered words. ‘You, fy nghariad’.
Jennifer closed her eyes and felt the embrace of her ghostly lover, felt her kisses and soft words, and knew she’d done the right thing.
Arianwen lies still in her bed. She gazes at the soft face of the woman with her head on Arianwen’s pillow. The woman is asleep and Arianwen can see her, can watch the flicker of her eyes behind her lids as she dreams. She knows this is impossible, that this woman could not have come from nowhere into
her house, into her life but she does not care. She just wants to drink in every detail about her, in case she never sees her again.
She has shoulder-length, slightly curly black hair. Her skin is darker than Arianwen’s, almost tanned. It does not mar her beauty. Her face is pretty but she has a strong jaw and a determined look to her. There is paint under her short fingernails and the smudge of pencil lead on her fingertips. Her body is slim and she is actually wearing trousers. Arianwen rubs her hand along the woman’s thighs. The material of the trousers is rough and course. They are a faded blue colour and look well-worn. She is not a rich person then.
Arianwen cannot take her eyes from her companion. She has whispered soft words to her, sung to her like they had sung together at the piano. The woman heard her voice, responded to her.
‘Am I your sweetheart?’
‘Yes!’ Arianwen had wanted to shout, to fill the whole cottage, the whole village, the whole world with her proclamation. But her insides had filled with fear and she had shown herself to be a coward. Blodwyn did not want her, why should this woman, this stranger?
Then, in the silence, she had reached out and whispered her confession. Fy nghariad. This woman is her sweetheart. She feels a pull to her, some strange connection.
But there is a distance between them. It is like these times alone with this woman are a world apart from her ordinary life. Arianwen is pulled between these two worlds and she does not know which way to go. Arianwen does not know what it means, only that she knows of no way to cross the distance. She is trapped.
Chapter Six
JENNIFER WAS AVOIDING CERIS. She hadn’t seen her since that day in the coffee shop, nearly a week ago now. It was at times like this that she wished her old dad was still around. He always knew how to deal with people. Jennifer knew that was one of her failings. She could make friends easily but she found it far too easy to say the wrong thing, before she’d even thought about it. And she never knew how to put it right.
