the sun. He gives a wry smile and begins rolling a cigarette. “Enjoying the view?”
“I am. It’s even lovelier in the sunshine. It puts a whole different perspective on it.”
“Aye.” He runs the tip of his tongue along the cigarette paper and rolls it between fingers and thumb. “Are you no going to sketch it?”
I shift a little on the rock, my bum numbed by the hard surface. “I’ve been shopping. I don’t take my sketchbook everywhere.”
“No? I thought artists never went anywhere without a notebook, or is that a writer?”
“Must be a writer because I am empty handed.”
“Tell me, did you take it with you on your date? I’d like to see pictures of that.”
“What date?”
“With Huw the Log”
“For God’s sake, does everyone know about that? It wasn’t a bloody date, it was one drink!”
He blows smoke into the air and laughs softly. “That constitutes an engagement round these parts.”
“For Heaven’s sake, it’s ridiculous. We barely even spoke. Well, he hardly spoke to me anyway.”
“The poor fella was probably terrified.”
“Why?”
“Well, you’re a woman aren’t you? It’s the closest Huw the Log has ever been to a woman in his life.” He puts a foot on my rock and leans on his knee. “He probably thinks you’re his sweetheart now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He stands up, still laughing at me. “Since I’m going your way, shall I carry your bag?”
I snatch the carrier of shopping from the ground. “I am perfectly capable.” I say as we begin to head away from the village.
“Yeah, you’re probably wise. I’d not want to compromise your reputation further.”
Piss taking bastard . He mocks me all he way to the beach, where we part company. I walk swiftly across the wet sand, scrunch through the shingle and turn at the garden gate. He is still watching me, still laughing softly. Then he gives a mock salute and turns away.
That bloody man, I think as I begin to stow away the shopping, that bloody, bloody man!
I am in the garden, collecting the last blackberries and a few sticks of rhubarb to make a pie when I hear a footstep behind me. I straighten up and turn to find Huw, his hair plastered to his head, his new shirt still bearing the creases of the packaging.
“Huw. What a surprise.” I say it without enthusiasm. “Just picking the last of the fruit,” I add unnecessarily as I add it to the basket.
“Lovely. You’ve a tidy harvest.” He hovers at the edge of the path, watching me pluck a few more berries. “Erm?” He hesitates until I look up. His face is puce as he fumbles for words. “I have the van with me. I thought you might like a trip into town. I’ve to pick up a clutch of chicks and well … I thought we could maybe … have lunch. There’s that nice little teashop on the corner that my gran is always talking about …”
His voice trails off when he sees the refusal on my face. When I shake my head he looks so woeful that I feel like a heel. “I’m sorry, Huw. I don’t want people to get the wrong idea. Let’s just keep it as friends shall we? I – I’m just not ready. I don’t know if I ever will be.”
He has never asked me about James and I guess he has heard some garbled tale from his grandmother. Nodding his head slowly, sorrowfully, he retreats to his van and starts up the engine. I follow him to the gate. “Sorry, Huw,” I call after him, “see you next week, as usual?”
He gives me a ghost of a smile and the van bounces along the track toward the village. Damn that woman , I think to myself as I collect my basket of fruit. If she’d kept her nose out of things I could have gone with him. Huw would never have plucked up the courage to be anything other than platonic but I couldn’t carry on, not with the whole village watching and talking about us.
As winter takes a deeper bite I grow lonelier, spending more time indoors, less sitting in the garden or sketching al fresco and more time
“I am. It’s even lovelier in the sunshine. It puts a whole different perspective on it.”
“Aye.” He runs the tip of his tongue along the cigarette paper and rolls it between fingers and thumb. “Are you no going to sketch it?”
I shift a little on the rock, my bum numbed by the hard surface. “I’ve been shopping. I don’t take my sketchbook everywhere.”
“No? I thought artists never went anywhere without a notebook, or is that a writer?”
“Must be a writer because I am empty handed.”
“Tell me, did you take it with you on your date? I’d like to see pictures of that.”
“What date?”
“With Huw the Log”
“For God’s sake, does everyone know about that? It wasn’t a bloody date, it was one drink!”
He blows smoke into the air and laughs softly. “That constitutes an engagement round these parts.”
“For Heaven’s sake, it’s ridiculous. We barely even spoke. Well, he hardly spoke to me anyway.”
“The poor fella was probably terrified.”
“Why?”
“Well, you’re a woman aren’t you? It’s the closest Huw the Log has ever been to a woman in his life.” He puts a foot on my rock and leans on his knee. “He probably thinks you’re his sweetheart now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He stands up, still laughing at me. “Since I’m going your way, shall I carry your bag?”
I snatch the carrier of shopping from the ground. “I am perfectly capable.” I say as we begin to head away from the village.
“Yeah, you’re probably wise. I’d not want to compromise your reputation further.”
Piss taking bastard . He mocks me all he way to the beach, where we part company. I walk swiftly across the wet sand, scrunch through the shingle and turn at the garden gate. He is still watching me, still laughing softly. Then he gives a mock salute and turns away.
That bloody man, I think as I begin to stow away the shopping, that bloody, bloody man!
I am in the garden, collecting the last blackberries and a few sticks of rhubarb to make a pie when I hear a footstep behind me. I straighten up and turn to find Huw, his hair plastered to his head, his new shirt still bearing the creases of the packaging.
“Huw. What a surprise.” I say it without enthusiasm. “Just picking the last of the fruit,” I add unnecessarily as I add it to the basket.
“Lovely. You’ve a tidy harvest.” He hovers at the edge of the path, watching me pluck a few more berries. “Erm?” He hesitates until I look up. His face is puce as he fumbles for words. “I have the van with me. I thought you might like a trip into town. I’ve to pick up a clutch of chicks and well … I thought we could maybe … have lunch. There’s that nice little teashop on the corner that my gran is always talking about …”
His voice trails off when he sees the refusal on my face. When I shake my head he looks so woeful that I feel like a heel. “I’m sorry, Huw. I don’t want people to get the wrong idea. Let’s just keep it as friends shall we? I – I’m just not ready. I don’t know if I ever will be.”
He has never asked me about James and I guess he has heard some garbled tale from his grandmother. Nodding his head slowly, sorrowfully, he retreats to his van and starts up the engine. I follow him to the gate. “Sorry, Huw,” I call after him, “see you next week, as usual?”
He gives me a ghost of a smile and the van bounces along the track toward the village. Damn that woman , I think to myself as I collect my basket of fruit. If she’d kept her nose out of things I could have gone with him. Huw would never have plucked up the courage to be anything other than platonic but I couldn’t carry on, not with the whole village watching and talking about us.
As winter takes a deeper bite I grow lonelier, spending more time indoors, less sitting in the garden or sketching al fresco and more time
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