CHAPTER 6
There was a window in the bedroom Nigel had given us, and for once I managed to slide down the bed from between my two carers, leaning on the sill to gaze over the countryside to the South. I could just catch a glimpse of what had to be the sea, something I realised I hadn’t actually seen since my last visit to my old home.

The air was clear, the ground damp after rain had passed through in the night. A pair of high chain-link gates had been locked shut behind our van and trailer, and I could just see the head of a dog poking out from under the trailer. Sooty or Sweep? A milk float pulled into the pub car park, and the dog was out and trotting up to the wire mesh, another running to join it. Long heads, athletic bodies and total and utter focus; Nigel had been right. Not dogs for a pet and stroke.

‘Carers’. That was the word that had come to me when I rose, and it fitted. A memory of Ken holding my legs down, as gently as he could, talking softly to me as Lorraine stitched and wept. In my cynicism, I was asking so many questions about costs and pay-offs, and it simply didn’t feel appropriate. They were clearly getting something from me, but I couldn’t see what that might be. Right then, I was safe, what felt like a thousand miles away from John and Marie, Charlie and Don…

Waking nightmares can be far more severe than those that haunt our sleep, but I fought that one off in a way I had never been able to do with its source. I could feel the stitches pulling as I moved, and that helped, as a reminder not only of what they had done to me but of the simple fact that, to all intents and purposes, I seemed to be safe. It might be temporary, it might fall apart in a moment, but I would deal with that if and when it happened.

Ken came up behind me as I stared out of the window, an arm slipping companionably over my shoulders. I tensed, reflexes kicking in, and he dropped his arm immediately.

“No, Deb. Not like that, duck. Never like that”

I reached out for his arm, pulled it back up and leant into him.

“I know. Just how I am now. Sorry”

“Never apologise for what isn’t your fault, girl. Now, we need to grab some bits and pieces, especially a cuppa, and then we’re off. We have a full weekend ahead. Do you like music?”

“Yeah… but not heard any for ages”

There was another pause from him, and in later years I grew to realise that he was having to process each facet of what added up to my deprived childhood. No radio, no TV, no socialisation apart from the other inmates and (that word again) our ‘carers’.

“What sort do you like? I love things like Fairport, Steeleye and that, as well as Hawkwind. Heard any of them?”

“I haven’t heard OF any of those!”

“Ah! We are going to have to educate you then. What about Beatles, Stones, Kinks?”

I found myself blushing, because one of the names he had listed really did mean something to me, and Ken noticed.

“Let me guess, duck? L-O-L-A?”

We sang out “Lola!” together without any planning, and he started to laugh, a cough coming from the bed.

“When you two have finished playing alarm clocks, we need to get over to the far side of Clase before it gets too busy. Now, I think we can risk a bacon sandwich, just the one. You eat bacon?”

“Oh yeah!”

“Just the one. One slice of bread, crusts off. Not much roughage in Mother’s Pride, so should be safe. And if you like music, we have a cassette player buried in the van. Just need to dig out some batteries, and we’ll have bit of noise as we drive. Love?”

“Yeah, duck?”

“How far have you got in educating this one about where we’re going?”

“Just started. Want to finish off while I sort the kettle?”

“Will do. Deb? Teeth and get dressed first”

She handed me a package from her huge canvas bag, which proved to be a brand-new toothbrush, obviously picked up in the shopping frenzy what seemed like an aeon ago. I did the necessary, grateful I needed no more than a wee, and joined them both downstairs in the pub kitchen, a smell of stale beer, cigarette smoke and wet dog everywhere. The bacon was heavenly, and I was treated to a glass of real orange juice, poured from a glass bottle the same shape as those that held milk. There was no sign of Nigel, but the Petries seemed at ease. Lorraine called for my attention.

“Do you know what a bike club is, love?”

“People who ride motorbikes?”

“Basically, yes. Social club for bikers. They like to have parties, and this is one of them. There’s a farm, up a rough track, and they put up a big tent, with a bar, and bands, and a disco. We set up the stall, which is what all the stock is for, and we have three nights there before we move on. The bikers bring their own tents, and they have silly games, and some get very, very drunk. I’ll be honest: some rallies are less friendly than others. This one is one of the more laid-back ones, and the weather forecast is set fine, so it will be shorts, if you like. Just be careful where you sit down. If you want to dance, don’t go too wild. Morning, Nige!”

The landlord grunted out “There tea in that pot?” before accepting the mug Ken was already holding and taking a large mouthful, wincing at the heat,

“Getting too bloody old for late nights, I am”

Lorraine laughed.

“Early mornings, more like! What time did they all clear off?”

“Half two. Let me get the dogs sorted, then, if you don’t mind, I’m off back to bed. Don’t open this door, kid. The dogs don’t know you”

He shambled out in T-shirt and pyjama bottoms, and I heard deep and excited barking as he called his guardians. I had only eaten half of the promised sandwich, due to fear of anything emerging later, but I guzzled the tea and a little bowl of very milky cereal while my new friends gathered our night things. Out through a side door and round the back of the pub to the van, where I found the gates already folded back. Lorraine dropped a hand on my shoulder.

“Watch your step, Deb. Dogs have been here all night, and they usually leave an egg or six”

“Egg?”

“Brown and squidgy ones. I was going to say that I don’t know what he feeds those two, but unfortunately I know all too well!”

Ken was chuckling, which he seemed to do an awful lot.

“Deb, you ever trod in dog muck?”

“Yeah. Not nice. Takes ages to get off your shoes”

“Well, I was once staying at a house where they had a new pup. Kept it in the kitchen, newspaper down, yeah? I was sleeping on the settee, bog was back of kitchen…”

“Bare feet? UGH!”

“Yup! Not a memory I will ever lose. Now, Loz, duck: music. What are we starting with?”

“Who’s driving?”

“I’ll do second bit, if you want. That track’s a bit rubbish, and you need a bit of heft for the steering”

“OK, then. I’ll get the tape machine while you grab some batteries and the box of cassettes”

We rolled out of the car park, Lorraine at the wheel, while Ken fiddled about with a sort of small case with a handle. I’d heard about the things, but had never actually heard one playing, so it was a little exciting. There was a row of keys, like part of a piano, and a little hinged see-through top, underneath which he clicked a cassette. One of the big keys was pressed down with a loud clunk, and a hissing started to come from the player.

“This is new stuff, Deb. ‘Below the Salt’, it’s called”

“Never heard of them”

“Na! That’s the name of the album. Band is Steeleye Span. One of my favourites. Fiddle player is really good”

The two of them left me to listen, and it was catchy stuff. I could see why Ken liked it. I could almost see myself in a proper dance to some of it, like we did at school a couple of times. The machine suddenly made a click after one song, and Ken pressed some more buttons, slipped the cassette out and turned it over.

“Side two, kid”

Three songs in particular hit me right in the stomach, and I was almost angry with the machine and cassette that it wasn’t like a record, where one could just move the needle back and listen again and again. The first of the three was sung without instruments, and it was in what I realised was Latin, a number of voices in close harmony. The second was introduced by Ken as being one of his favourites, and as the first part of the singing died away, he told me to listen to the fiddle playing. I will admit that I found it extremely frightening, in a goose-bumps and giggles sense.

The third song that caught my sense of wonder was about a sailor, and the delight was heightened when both Ken and Lorraine started to shout-sing the last few lines.

“I am frolicsome, I am easy
Good-tempered and free!
And I don’t give a single pin my boys
What the world thinks of me!”

Lorraine reached across with her left hand to take Ken’s right, and I could feel how those words spoke to them, spoke to me. That seemed to be their life, ‘good-tempered and free’, and I thought back to those days window-staring in Chester’s Rows, the happy and conventional families in so many posters, advertising everything from breakfast cereals to holidays.

‘Good-tempered and free’ didn’t describe the traffic in Swansea, nor the drivers, but we made it through, the Petries swapping seats in a petrol station forecourt before the last bit out of the city, a number of little posters and cardboard arrows fastened to lampposts while the roads got smaller and narrower until we seemed to be brushing the hedges on both sides, the surface a mess of potholes and loose gravel. A last turn, a metal gate, a small frame tent beside it, and a grinning man with a lot of hair and a sleeveless denim jacket covered in little metal badges.

“Welcome to the Farmyard Fumble! Can you stick yourself along the hedge over there? Marquee will be up in a few. Who’s that with you, Badger?”

‘Badger’?

“One of my family, Gandalf. She’s housebroken”

The mass of hair parted, revealing a broad grin with a missing tooth.

“That’s more than I can say for most of the others coming this weekend, butt! You OK getting set up, or need a hand?”

“Should be fine, mate. Where’s the fire going? We need to be upwind”

“Far corner. No worries for you there. Bar should be running by six, food by seven. I’ve got you a pint in the wood ready, if you want. Loz? Same? And the kid?”

Lorraine had stepped down, and tugged me round with her to stand feeling a little lost as she hugged ‘Gandalf’.

“Mate, this is Debbie. Not that well, and as you can see just a little under-age for a pint”

My latest new friend grinned again.

“Then how does a hot chocolate sound, Debbie?”