the dark windows. Huw sucks foam from his top lip while I look desperately around the pub for inspiration. I wish a crowd would stumble in the door and start making a racket. If the bar was noisy we’d be spared the need to wrack our brains for something to say.
“Where do you get all your wood from?” What? Am I really asking a question like that? God help me get out of here .
“Oh, hereabouts.” He puts down his glass and places a hand on his knee, straightening his back importantly. “I’ve a chainsaw licence and if a local person has a tree they want taking down, I charge a little less in exchange for the felled timber. Of course, sometimes they have their own solid fuel fire and want to keep it, so then I has to charge them extra for splitting and stacking the logs in the shed.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. It is beyond my capabilities to pretend that his job is interesting. I long for James, suddenly missing his vibrant creativity so much. How he would laugh to see me here with a strange man like Huw.
“You’ve lived here all your life then?”
“Oh yes. Though once, I went to Spain. Didn’t like it at all, it was far too hot for me.”
I have the sudden image of Huw and Mrs Davis sitting on striped deckchairs on a Spanish beach, Huw has a knotted hanky on his head, his trousers rolled up to his knees. Mrs Davis is still in her raincoat, with her handbag clutched on her lap. I hide my smile .
“Have you been?”
“Where?”
“Spain.”
“Oh, yes. James, my husband, liked Andalucia; we went a few times on painting holidays. We had a Spanish exhibition once. It was very successful.”
Go on, I think, ask me about my life, about my work. But it doesn’t occur to him.
“Oh, that must have been lovely.”
“Yes, it was.”
Silence falls again and I look about the bar, still seeking something to stimulate conversation but there is nothing. Even the walls are bare, apart from a yellowing schedule for the darts tournament and a poster with details of a coach trip to Bangor that had taken place in June.
As the evening progresses Huw slowly consumes three pints of beer. I shake my head when he asks if I would like a third glass of tonic. Already I feel full of gas, another glass would be fatal. It is just nine-thirty when Huw finally puts his glass on the bar and suggests it is time we left. I let out a silent sigh of relief.
“Hwyl .”
“ Nos da .” The barman gets up and we hear the bolts sliding across when the door closes behind us. There is no late opening in this village. All twenty houses have their curtains drawn, upstairs lights gleaming behind most of them. This village is peopled with early risers and you are more likely to bump into a neighbour at six in the morning than ten at night.
“Watch your step now.” Huw shines his torch along the soggy path and I am so careful to watch where I step that I almost miss the moonlight slanting on the sea, the glutinous waves like mercury against the sand. At my garden gate he waits, shining his light along the path while I get the key in the door and switch the hall light on.
“Coffee?” I ask, praying that he will refuse.
“Oh, no, no thank you.” I can see I have shocked him. He probably imagines my intentions to be dishonourable so I do not press the invitation.
“Well, thanks for the drinks, Huw. It was nice to get out.”
“And thank you, Fiona. We must do it again.”
“Yes,” I agree, with my fingers crossed behind my back. “Good night. Mind how you go.”
Ten
The shop bell makes a tinkling sound, heralding my entrance and Mrs Davis looks up from her customer. To my surprise she puts down the sausages she is wrapping and bustles around to the front of the counter. “Ooh, Hello bach .” She links my arm conspiratorially and leads me forward. “Have you met Mrs Japp?” she says to the curly haired woman, “Fiona, this is Mrs Lloyd from Fferm Heol.”
I smile as the woman takes my hand
“Where do you get all your wood from?” What? Am I really asking a question like that? God help me get out of here .
“Oh, hereabouts.” He puts down his glass and places a hand on his knee, straightening his back importantly. “I’ve a chainsaw licence and if a local person has a tree they want taking down, I charge a little less in exchange for the felled timber. Of course, sometimes they have their own solid fuel fire and want to keep it, so then I has to charge them extra for splitting and stacking the logs in the shed.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. It is beyond my capabilities to pretend that his job is interesting. I long for James, suddenly missing his vibrant creativity so much. How he would laugh to see me here with a strange man like Huw.
“You’ve lived here all your life then?”
“Oh yes. Though once, I went to Spain. Didn’t like it at all, it was far too hot for me.”
I have the sudden image of Huw and Mrs Davis sitting on striped deckchairs on a Spanish beach, Huw has a knotted hanky on his head, his trousers rolled up to his knees. Mrs Davis is still in her raincoat, with her handbag clutched on her lap. I hide my smile .
“Have you been?”
“Where?”
“Spain.”
“Oh, yes. James, my husband, liked Andalucia; we went a few times on painting holidays. We had a Spanish exhibition once. It was very successful.”
Go on, I think, ask me about my life, about my work. But it doesn’t occur to him.
“Oh, that must have been lovely.”
“Yes, it was.”
Silence falls again and I look about the bar, still seeking something to stimulate conversation but there is nothing. Even the walls are bare, apart from a yellowing schedule for the darts tournament and a poster with details of a coach trip to Bangor that had taken place in June.
As the evening progresses Huw slowly consumes three pints of beer. I shake my head when he asks if I would like a third glass of tonic. Already I feel full of gas, another glass would be fatal. It is just nine-thirty when Huw finally puts his glass on the bar and suggests it is time we left. I let out a silent sigh of relief.
“Hwyl .”
“ Nos da .” The barman gets up and we hear the bolts sliding across when the door closes behind us. There is no late opening in this village. All twenty houses have their curtains drawn, upstairs lights gleaming behind most of them. This village is peopled with early risers and you are more likely to bump into a neighbour at six in the morning than ten at night.
“Watch your step now.” Huw shines his torch along the soggy path and I am so careful to watch where I step that I almost miss the moonlight slanting on the sea, the glutinous waves like mercury against the sand. At my garden gate he waits, shining his light along the path while I get the key in the door and switch the hall light on.
“Coffee?” I ask, praying that he will refuse.
“Oh, no, no thank you.” I can see I have shocked him. He probably imagines my intentions to be dishonourable so I do not press the invitation.
“Well, thanks for the drinks, Huw. It was nice to get out.”
“And thank you, Fiona. We must do it again.”
“Yes,” I agree, with my fingers crossed behind my back. “Good night. Mind how you go.”
Ten
The shop bell makes a tinkling sound, heralding my entrance and Mrs Davis looks up from her customer. To my surprise she puts down the sausages she is wrapping and bustles around to the front of the counter. “Ooh, Hello bach .” She links my arm conspiratorially and leads me forward. “Have you met Mrs Japp?” she says to the curly haired woman, “Fiona, this is Mrs Lloyd from Fferm Heol.”
I smile as the woman takes my hand
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