CHAPTER 6
Ruth picked up on my confusion before my workmates, which didn’t really surprise me, as I was steadily realising how sharp she was. I was having a break from household drudgery (or feeling too lazy to cook for myself) and digging into one of her beef stews when she took a seat across from me, after checking the door.

“Cough, Debbie! What’s got you all twitchy this evening?”

“You a bloody mind-reader, Ruth?”

She laughed.

“Get a bit that way, when you have regular customers. At least mine stay sober, unlike him down the road there. Isn’t it? Anyway: work or love life?”

I found a smile breaking out, and shook my head at her, almost in admiration.

“You are good, woman! The, um, the second, I suppose”

“Anyone I know?”

“Don’t think so, not really”

“Bloke or girl?”

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth, a chunk of beef dropping back into the rest of the stew. Both her hands came up, as if to ward off a threat. It was an almost exact replay of Harry’s reaction.

“No, love! Not meaning anything, am I? Just, I know you’ve been going down the Smugglers and that, so I didn’t want to make assumptions!”

I wound in whatever expression I had been showing her, just as I had with Harry, and set down my cutlery.

“No offence taken, Ruth. I’m straight, aye? Which leads on… Look, got some old friends of Dad’s, Mam’s, they’re a gay couple, men. They’ll be down for a visit in a little while, so I was asking Harry for a safe place to take them, somewhere they could relax. That’s the reason I was down that place”

“Ah!. I did wonder. Anyway, who’s the bloke? Your one, that is?”

“Not my bloke, Ruth. Just someone who asked me out on Saturday. Works at one of my regular drops”

Her grin was far cheekier that time.

“Let me guess, then: what do you wear?”

That one set me laughing properly.

“Spot on! I mean, he sees me in working rig, company overalls, safety boots. Then there’s this, what I’m wearing now, yeah? Leather and jeans. Not got much else. I don’t really do girly”

“You not get all done up for one of those rock do, bike meeting things you go to?”

“Spiky boots and short skirt? I used to, but… but that was me and Mam together, and it was for us, aye? Not for the lads, just for us to feel good, shake our stuff. Don’t think it’s quite right for a concert. Might send him the wrong signals, anyway”

“What signals do you want to send, Deb?”

“I have no bloody idea, have I? Bit new to all this, isn’t it?”

She gave me a long and piercing look, followed by a gentler smile.

“I think we have a lot to talk about at some time, Debbie. Not now, OK? Here’s my suggestion: go as you are. I mean, clean T-shirt jeans, knickers”

“KNICKERS?”

She adopted a look of wide-eyed innocence.

“You might get lucky—er, I mean ‘unlucky’, and get hit by a bus, and my Mam always said to me, Ruth, you wear a clean pair of knickers, just in case you get knocked down and then you won’t embarrass me in the hospital and…”

We were both laughing too hard by then for her to continue. She took some deep breaths to steady her voice, then gave me yet another gentle smile.

“If the lad’s asked you out when you’re wearing a set of overalls, it sounds like he’s asked the woman rather than the tits or the arse, so he’ll probably be happy seeing that woman as she really is. If he’s worth anything, you’ll find that out, and you can dress up if you want to afterwards. Just be yourself, love, and you’ll be fine. Want me to warm that stew up again for you?”

I realised she was right, and I found myself tempted to blurt everything out, there and then, but I was there for a fresh start, and I didn’t need to find myself hitting hurdles too early.

Jeans and T-shirt, then. Clean ones. And a ski jacket for warmth.

I was settling down with the bird book a couple of hours later when my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hiya, Debbie!”

“Rosie! What’s up?”

“Can’t I ring you just for a chat?”

“Not at this time of the night, woman! What’s up?”

She chuckled.

“You know me too well. I’ll get to the point, then. This Frank”

“What the fuck?”

“You’ve been asked out. Baker for Tesco, isn’t it? Anyway, don’t ask. Just wanted to let you know there’s nothing nasty we know about him”

The silence stretched for more than a few seconds before she spoke again.

“We have your back, love, like I know you have ours. You go and have a good night, and we’ll chat after”

Click, and she was gone. I sat holding the handset for a while, remembering so many moments with Mam and Dad. Horse delivering information out of the blue, other patches from other MCs doing the same, all seeming to know exactly who and what I was. I could have felt smothered; I could have felt paranoid.

What I did feel was the sense of a leather-clad wall standing between me and that bastard Cooper. I hung up, and started the process of laying out just the right T-shirt. In the end, I went one further than Ruth’s suggestion and observation, and laid out one of the lower-cut slogan vests together with a checked shirt to wear over it. If things went well, I would have the option of delivering a bit of cleavage. As Ruth had said, he had asked me out rather than my tits, but I still had a pair to…

BLOODY tears. I flung both tops at the wall, and settled down to grab what sleep I could.

Saturday evening came, and I was standing on the corner by Harry’s place when a Ford Escort driver tooted at me and pulled over to the kerb. Frank, of course. I smiled as he reached across to open the passenger door, and I slipped into the car and out of the drizzle that was steadily getting worse.

“Hiya, Debbie! First time I’ve seen you out of overalls!”

“I look all right for this gig?”

“Do you feel comfortable?”

“Well, yeah. This is basically what I always wear”

“Then it’s fine. Can’t be bothered with dressing up for no reason. Seatbelt on?”

“Yup”

“Then we’re off. Did I tell you who we’re seeing? Can’t remember if I did”

“No, you haven’t”

“Dafydd Iwan. Bit of a Plaid Cymru favourite, he is. Bit of politics, but he writes a damned good song. Floor spots to go with it, but I don’t know what they’ll be like”

He drove a little jerkily towards Llandaff, pulling up eventually outside some community centre or other, and the soppy sod even tried to jump out to open my door for me. I was already climbing out when he got round to my side of the car, which set us both laughing, and led me into the building. Tickets produced, and over to the bar.

“I’ll be on coke tonight, Debbie. With the car, yeah? What do you want yourself?”

“Ah, coke will do me”

“You don’t drink?”

“Oh, yes, but it wouldn’t be fair on you taking someone sozzled home”

Neither would it let me keep the control I wanted.

“Ok by me, woman. Now, couple of seats over by there?”

Ten minutes after we had seated ourselves, an elderly man walked out into the space before us, carrying a microphone on a long lead.

“Hiya, and welcome to tonight’s session of the club. Next week will be an open night, so if anyone wants to do a song, or play a tune, or do a silly dance, or even read some verse to us, that’s your chance. I know who you’re all here for tonight, though, so we’ll set things going with a few tunes from the club band, followed by the man himself”

He then spoke in Welsh, clearly repeating the same thing in that language, then waved at one side, where a group of six or seven people played the promised set of tunes, and doing it rather well. I found myself nodding along to it, foot tapping, and feeling warm memories of my parents for once. They would have loved the stuff.

Three women followed, singing something Welsh in close harmony, and then there was a buzz as a stocky man carrying a guitar walked out in front of the little set of speakers, plugging a lead into an acoustic guitar as he did so. He looked around the room with a grin, and then launched into an introduction, or a list of songs, or maybe his mother’s recipe for Cawl, it didn’t matter which.

It was all in bloody Welsh. I realised Frank was laughing at some of Iwan’s words, and then the star turn started strumming away, launching into his first song.

In bloody Welsh. In fact, the whole bloody act was in that language, and while I enjoyed his playing, and his voice, to be honest, I didn’t have a clue what he was on about. There was an interval, and I was in too much confusion to really make my point to Frank, before we had another couple of floor spots followed by a second dose of ‘What the hell is he singing about?’.

There were encores. There was laughter. I applauded with everyone else, because I had actually enjoyed the sounds, but it would have been nice to have had the sense as well.

Out to the parked car, Frank still chuckling at some incomprehensible joke or other, and I finally gave in and made the point.

“Frank?”

“Yes, Debbie?”

“You speak Welsh, don’t you?”

“Oh shit. I thought, I assumed, you’re a gog, isn’t it? I thought you all understood the language up there!”

“Frank, I come from Connah’s Quay. That’s only seven miles or so from the border. And I grew up in the English Midlands”

He looked devastated.

“I am so, so sorry, girl!”

“Ah, forget it. I liked the sound, anyway. Shall we grab some chips or something?”

He nodded, still shamefaced, and drove us back towards the city centre, where we managed to find a parking spot near the station, as well as a sit-down chippy, the smell of vinegar and hot fat evoking memories of Duncan’s old place. We settled ourselves at one of the tables, each with a plate of pie, chips and gravy, Frank adding some peas to his, a can of fizz apiece to take away some of the grease. I loosened my shirt as a sort of apology to him for his embarrassment, and smiled to myself as his gaze immediately dropped to a lower target.

I realised I was actually having fun, and he seemed to be enjoying the view as well as my company, so I grinned at him.

“What’s the next suggestion, butt? Anything in English?”

He muttered something in Welsh, so I gave him the ‘do tell’ eyebrows, and he grinned, which was when I suddenly understood how good-looking a man he really was, despite being a straight.

“I said you’ll have to learn Welsh, Debbie”

Chips gone, the drizzle outside slightly reduced, I stood outside with him for an instant before linking my arm into his and starting a low walk towards the river bank. Within about six paces, his arm slipped down and around my waist, and that was OK, and better than OK, and there were gulls still about over the Taff, their whiteness flashing in and out of view in the puddle of light from the lamps along the bank. Lesser black backed gulls, I thought, in my new-found expertise, and settled against him, then, as he mumbled something about drizzle, I looked up at him, and the next bit was obvious.

His lips were gentle, and he didn’t start shoving his tongue at me, no slobber, ant it was good, and it was right, until he stroked the back of my neck, and Charlie fucking Cooper broke the mood and sent everything crashing and burning.

Frank clearly felt my cringe, and to my relief he offered no apology, no stammering explanation as to why he might need to say sorry after pushing things too far, too quickly, and simply drove me home, where I set about the process of locking him out of my life, along with anyone else that could hurt me.

Fuck you all the way to hell and back, Cooper.