CHAPTER 85
I spent some time as the days lengthened once more working with Heidi and the local colleges, and to my delight we found a couple of vocational places for Charlie and Tiff, while Clara settled into her own A-level preparations, and we lost Alicia.

That wasn’t how it sounded, but it was still a wrench. Alun had been fighting with her mother over both custody (piss right off with that idea, bitch) and ownership of the house, and it had been Alun who had come out ahead in both contests, as well as confirming my growing respect for his character and deep love of his daughter. Of course, the first conflict was actually a non-starter, as she had turned eighteen and was therefore an adult, but the second, by all reports, had been a bastard of a fight. Neither of those was the reason for her departure, though, which was much closer to home, and called Phil.

His place with Kim was a shared house, and when one of their housemates failed their exams, the poor student had been faced with a choice of trying again, and probably risking wasting even more money in tuition fees, or calling it a day. He had chosen the latter option, which meant that the rest needed one extra to keep on top of the bills, and Alicia, or at least Alun, was there to snap up the room.

I felt lost, to be honest. The departure of Cathy and Nell had been a blow, and then I had lost Kim, and… In the end, I persuaded myself that it was all a part of that same process I had found so uplifting when it was just the girls going shopping on their own. That led into a little bit of self-examination, of re-evaluation of why I did what I did. It had started out as a product of empathy: I had understood exactly where Kim had been coming from, and then there was Eleanor, and Cathy, and… but now, as I filled the House, was I doing it for the girls, or for myself?

Let them fly free, just like Cathy and Nell, and Kim, but be there for them, as long as I could.

I understood it even better when I took Charlie on another long train ride down to Exeter, and she returned clutching an even better present than any of us had found at Christmas, as the nice shrinks had decided to agree to a decent dose of oestrogen, and I almost had to nail her feet to the floor to stop her marching down to the nearest health centre and demanding they issue a prescription there and then. I wasn’t my Mam!

She was buzzing on the way back, so I found it a little difficult to get a word in, but succeeded as we waited at Bristol to change trains.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your family from?”

“Wales, of course”

“Nobody from England? Not the most Welsh of names, Surtees”

She looked slightly shamefaced.

“Yeah, well, Granddad, Dad’s Dad, he, um…”

I nodded, trying to draw the sting.

“But the other three, all proper Welsh, aye?”

She nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, all real Welsh, Granddad excepted. He was a miner. Came down for work”

“Where was he from, love?”

“Place called Leek. Granddad took us up there once, we stayed with his brother. All rocks and stuff, and Great Uncle Tom, he said there were wild kangaroos near there; he was full of silly stuff”

“This was your Bamps’s brother?”

She nodded.

“Yeah. He was a builder. Not seen him in ages, cause Dad said he couldn’t be arsed with England, and he wasn’t going to traipse up there, and, fuck, it’s funny. I mean, after being kicked out by him, I know he’s a shit, my Dad, but I say all that, and I realise he’s a REAL shit!”

“You don’t mind the English, then?”

She struck a dramatic pose.

“Not their fault they were born outside God’s Country, is it?”

A slight sag, then a shrug.

“Na, not that, really. Look at your friends, they’re English: nothing wrong with them, is there?”

I knew that both Malcolm and Graham would have said something about being Northumbrian rather than English, but let it lie.

“Where did your Great Uncle Tom live?”

“Town north of Birmingham somewhere, just off the motorway”

“Cannock?”

Her eyes lit up.

“Yeah! That sounds like it! They moved away ages ago, Dad said, don’t know where to; I was only little then”

“Was your uncle married?”

“Yeah, Naomi or Norma or something. Can’t really remember; just the rocks and the kangaroos, and him talking about the other one”

“Other one?”

“Yeah, three brothers; Bamps, he was George, Tom and Peter. Never met him. Great Uncle Pete, that is. He lives up in Scotland now, Dad said. Said he was a junky”

Shit.

“Charlie, I think I knew your Uncle Pete”

“Great Uncle”

“Same thing. If I have it right, he was our next-door neighbour”

“How? I mean, you were a traveller”

“We had a house, me and my parents, just for the really cold part of the year. Peter and Carol, she was a nurse, they lived next door, looked after the house while we were on the road. Your uncle… Ah, shit. Memories, love. Pete liked a smoke, but they were never junkies. Your Dad is a real shit, I think!”

She grinned.

“Tell me about it! You still in touch with him? Great Uncle Pete, that is, not my Dad”

“No, love. They moved away decades ago, some commune in Scotland. Carol’s a Buddhist, and Peter… Peter was just someone who could see the good in everyone, everything. Good people, love”

Charlie winced.

“Our sort of people, you mean?”

I nodded, squeezing her shoulder.

“Absolutely, girl”

She shook her head, muttering about the good things we always lost, then laughed, suddenly and happily.

“Ah, well, that just makes it even better”

“Makes what better?”

“Gives me more reason for his next Christmas prezzy, Dad, that is. Think Rockrose will help? She says she breeds dogs”

“What? Giving him a puppy?”

“Like fuck I am, Debbie! I just need to get more filling for the shit pasty. If we go up on your bike, and you keep the engine running…”

The most massive of snorts, and she lost it completely. I waited until she had stopped her guffaws enough to speak.

“And? What brought that on?”

“Oh, Di! Just, thought of filling the paper with dog turds, then, I remembered the smell, little Rhod, and I thought, should I just ask Di for the ammunition…”

And she was off again, laughing happily at the thought.

Good times, as far as they went. I found Bert smiling at me more and more at work, and he dropped a few comments about seeing me back on song again, and of course he was still cheeky enough to push me out of the yard when Whit Week came along, so the girls and I hit the Pembroke camp site again for that week, as my birdwatching notebook filled steadily, and then, of course, we had the school holidays and the mountains. It was a bloody good year, and it vanished far too quickly.

I was getting old, it seemed, and the clocks and calendar were rushing ahead. It didn’t stop me enjoying those moments that lit up my life, such as actually managing to shepherd my entire brood along Crib Goch for the first time, the only real wobbling coming from Gemma’s lad Marty.

Yes, he had joined us. There was a real depth to his character, but it clearly didn’t include a comfortable head with depths that were real rather than metaphorical. Pat had to talk him slowly across the narrowest part.

The really, really wonderful event of the year was the release of Paula’s book, which involved a signing session or sixteen in a big city centre bookshop, but before I could buy a copy, Diane simply handed me one she had bought, and then had signed by Paula. I tried to be dismissive, but couldn’t quite manage it.

“I could have got her to sign it when she was visiting”

“Tough. Not the same, and it’s done, and you can put it next to the other one”

“Other one?”

“Stevie Elliott’s book. Spotted it ages ago, over there on the shelf by the vinyl collection”

Bloody coppers and their eyesight. Or, rather, Di’s odd ability to pick up details. Paula’s book release was actually just one of so many good things that year, as Cathy and Nell’s wedding plans got underway, and of course there was the small matter of spending time by a hospital bed almost as soon as we had returned from the hills. No extra days for Cathy wandering the Lakes or Scotland.

Scott’s family were there for her, so I held off visiting for a very long time, or rather around twenty-four hours, and I took the train rather than drove for the simple reason that I hadn’t slept for more than twice that length of time. Scott was by her bedside, more cards, fruit and bottles of squash there than would have been carried by a corner shop, and a grey-faced woman in a plain nighty, her laptop on the night stand next to the cards, one of them from Peggy Hughes. The nurses were amazing, Scott was so attentive it hurt, and Cathy delivered one of the worst puns I can ever remember hearing.

After describing the whole procedure as a ‘bit of an anti-climax’, she adopted that awfully arch expression she affected when about to deliver a bad joke.

“When I said anti-climax, Nana…”

I sighed, dreading what was coming.

“Go on. Do your worst”

“Well…”

“Out with it, woman”

“I was sort of hoping… it wouldn’t be an anti-climax, but more of an ante-climax”

Ouch. I thought it had flown straight past Scott’s head, but then I caught his faint blush. I had delivered an absolute monster, it seemed. I smiled, and mock-slapped the hand that didn’t have the canular in it, and failed to mention how my own nerves had left me throwing up the day she had gone into theatre.

One down, that was the problem. I knew that so many of my other girls would want to follow that route, and if that was to be my reaction every time, I would end up with ulcers. Smile fixed in place, then, leave her with Scott and his family, and get back to Cardiff before the tears broke loose.

What a year; flashing by so many events, and no way to wind back for another look. It wasn’t just the local stuff, either, for I caught news from all sources as the simple fall-out from having so many young women sharing the place, and it wasn’t just television, but internet, gossip magazines, loud discussions at House meals, the lot, and one particular time it was about a Sussex copper getting married, a Sussex copper who had a friend called Diane. I left it for a while, but as the weather was closing in again (where had the sodding year gone?), the girls were staying in more, and we had planned a House meal with Special Guests, as Marty had made an approach that nearly broke my poker face. He had knocked at the House door one evening, asking for a private word.

“Ms Wells…”

“Debbie, please”

“Um. Debbie… Um”

I could see how he and Gemma got on, as he was as tongue-tied as her, but I didn’t push. Small flames need nurturing, not fanning.

“What do you want to know, Marty?”

“Er, about Gemma. She’s happy here, isn’t she?”

“I think so, son. Not looking to leave, as far as I know”

“Um…”

For god’s sake, son, I was thinking, and that was it for my patience.

“Are you asking if I would be happy for her to leave?”

“Um…”

“Because the answer to that question is a firm no”

His face fell, the poor kid.

“However…”

“Yes?”

“If it were a case of someone wanting to ask her if she’d like to share a place to live, and if he were a nice lad who cared about her, and if he were to make the right promises… I might cheer up”

His smile broke free.

“Really?”

I nodded.

“Yup. Really. What has she said about it?”

“I haven’t asked her yet…”

“Then can I suggest that the next thing you do is just that? And it should have been her before me, just for the next time you have a lovely idea about her. Go on!”

“Um…”

I grinned at him.

“Marty, love: you’ve just found the courage to ask the psycho biker bitch for permission; surely you have the courage to talk to the girl you love?”

He blushed, bright red this time, and I regretted my flippancy, softening my tone.

“You do love her, then, don’t you?”

He nodded, still looking down.

“Not used to this sort of thing. Not had much to do with girls before”

I hugged him.

“That was the right answer, Marty, and just keep those words in mind. Now, go and ask your girl, and yes: if that is what she wants, then you will make three of us happy”

More than three, Marty. Diane was loving her motherhood, and her old friend was happily married, Cathy was anticipating her climax, Paul and Paula were loved up to the extreme, so much life now dancing in the woman’s eyes, and it was just one brick missing from that wall.

The more my children flew free, the lonelier I became. Each year was flying past, and despite all of the joy we had found, it simply felt like another twelve months of my life had been wasted.