CHAPTER 68
I really didn’t put much into that Christmas, but I really think everyone understood why. I was more than a little surprised when Warren turned out to be a solid source of support.
“Simples, Enfys. Never thought I’d be where I am, and now I’ve had the surprise, I can’t imagine not being where I am. Sort of, well, knew what I was missing, then found it. Realised it was actually more than I had hoped for. Don’t want to be without her, do I? Don’t, can’t even think what that would be like. What it would mean. And I know you have your parents, both sets, and all your friends”
He had paused just then, grinning.
“That’s me all over. El says I put myself down, and it would be hard not to, but, well. What I should have said was ‘all your other friends’, because you and Alys did so much for me. For us, ah?”
A huge grin.
“My fiancée, and it feels amazing to be able to say that word, says that I have issues seeing what she calls my own good points. I usually reply that she didn’t spot them till she saw me in nothing but my underpants”
Another, longer pause.
“Yes; I have to joke. Still can’t believe it. Don’t think it’s the same for you two, though. The others said it all, but I’ll say it again: none of us can think of any two people better suited to each other. Yes, we know it’s been… That there have been issues along the way, but that’s not important. She’s back soon, and yes, soon. Now: my fiancée—I’m going to keep saying the word---has ideas about bridesmaid dresses. We need you to prod your, um, beloved to get sorted”
The biggest grin of all.
“And don’t try and pretend you aren’t thinking along those lines!”
He wasn’t wrong; I just had to find the right time and place to ask that particular question, and even the thought had me trembling. Fear, or anticipation?
The Winter was a cold one, and my work with the Rescue hadn’t stopped just because I was now working in the next valley. It was a nasty season for callouts, and they ranged from idiots who’d got lost because of a lack of such basics as a compass to three fatalities, two of whom were recovered, still roped together, under that same cornice Steph had taken me through. That hit hard, but I was far more annoyed by one group of idiots who admitted they had been asked by another hillwalker what make of car they had, and where it was parked, together with some direct suggestions as to the required kit for hillwalking in foggy, snowy and dark winter conditions.
I was even less amused when we had a booking from what was supposed to be a group of outdoors lovers who actually turned out to be a stag party. They had paid extra for one of the centre’s minibuses to pick them up from an evening in Betws, which had turned out to be a pub crawl rather than the mountaineering lecture they had claimed. An awful lot of the beer they had swallowed, plus bits of whatever the hell they had eaten, was left in the bus, including down the outside of a passenger door, where one or more of them just HAD to puke while the bus was moving.
Horrible job, the cleaning, and also one suitable for the New Chum, apparently. Me and Ricky, bloody obviously. Both Ross and Sue made some joking remarks about commitment and team effort, but, well. Just ‘But’.
Curb that temper, Hiatt, and remember Matt’s lectures about idiots and humanity.
The thing about snow, of course, is that it melts, so we had a number of backbreaking stretcher carries for people who had twisted ankles or knees in the wet, but an accident isn’t always due to poor preparation; I could live with those. I still managed to settle into my life at the Brenin, even if I stank of puke for a day, and Dad’s little Honda was a godsend. I was steadily moved into a more ‘responsible’ role, including being trusted to take bookings. As the year slowly dragged itself out from under the grey clag of Winter, I was on ‘desk’ duty again one day, which actually meant more cleaning, etc, with one ear cocked for a ringing phone. It duly rang.
“Plas y Brenin. Sh’mae; dw i’n Enfys. Hello, Enfys speaking”
The caller had a Gog accent, almost Scouse, and I thought she sounded familiar.
“Hello, just making enquiries for a friend. I’ve stayed with you before, or at least my girls have. Woman called Sue sorted it. Is she in?”
“Oh, sorry, she’s on her day off. Can I be a little rude?”
“Can I tell you to sod off if you are?”
“Fair exchange is no robbery!”
She sounded intrigued, rather than actively hostile.
“Go ahead…”
“You sound familiar. Have we met?”
“Don’t know. I don’t normally stay with you; I usually camp at Little Willy’s”
“Ah… Which pubs do you use? Sorry, but it’s puzzling me, cause I’m sure I know your voice”
“Well, I’m Debbie Wells. Usually down the Cow, with a friend. Pat’s her name”
“Ah! Yes! Older woman; you normally have a group of girls with you”
There was a pause, and then she confirmed what I had suspected.
“Yes. When Sue sorted us that stay, it was for the same girls. Me and Pat stayed in a cottage over the road”
“That’ll have been Joe’s place. Anyway, sorry for the interrogation, but your voice, well; question answered. What can we do for you?”
One of the deepest sighs I had ever heard, and then her voice came back, quieter by far.
“Not me, love. I have some friends that need some space to, well, to recover”
“Hard times at work?”
“Fucking… sorry, love. Enfys. How well do you keep up with the news? I mean, sorry to be specific, but news about people who might not be totally approved of by the Mail?”
I had to laugh at that one.
“Let me guess, Ms Wells”
“Debbie. Please”
“Debbie. Are we talking about immigrants, unemployed, gay or Islamic?”
She actually laughed out loud, muttering “Missed a few”, before settling herself down.
“Gay, Enfys. At least for starters. Gay bashing, in Cardiff mostly”
“Oh hell. That organised thing? Police involved? I mean, as in actually doing the kicking?”
“You have it”
“Are we talking about some of the victims?”
“I’ll get to that in a bit. Some more stories, first. Same area. Biker war? Big shoot-out? Just say yes or no If you know the story”
“Yes”
“Big trial in Chester? Paedophile in a kids’ home?”
Something caught in her voice as she spoke, but this was clearly as heavy a matter for her as my two dead ice climbers had been for me, so once more, I simply said “Yes”, even though it was a case I had followed intently, because it had involved Stevie Elliott, that former leading light of my Uni’s climbing, running and LGBT+ clubs. Surely that was enough? No, There was more, and she delivered it with a sound of utter exhaustion.
“Last one. Big dog-fighting thing in Merthyr Tydfil”
“Oh god yes!”
“Well, this lot I’m ringing about, they are the police team that dealt with all of those”
“Oh. Sorry, but I can’t… I just don’t have the words”
She sighed again.
“The words, my girl, are ‘stress’ and ‘collapse’. What I suggested to their boss is a trip up your way, Do some sort of package for them, while understanding that some of them might just want to do nothing but sit and stare at the hills. Is that a possibility?”
“Debbie, I have to say I am only here on a year’s placement, but if I know the manager at all, then yes. I’ll have a word, as long as you don’t mind me spelling it out to him”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. Want to sort something out now?”
“Not just yes, Enfys. Need to run it past him first, if that’s okay. If I leave it there, what I would like… Just a little bit of letting him think he’s driving things. Can we ring back in a few days with a yes or no?”
“Of course!”
“Thanks love. Really”
“They going to be all right?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. All we can do is try and help them get there”
We ended the call, and I found myself slumped against the counter for ten minutes, as all I could see once again was Alys, after her kidnap. Get moving, Hiatt: think up a package.
I wasn’t on reception when she rang again, and it was Ricky who sprinted from the front door, where he had been washing the glass.
“Enfys! For you!”
I took the phone from him, and of course it was Debbie. This time, she passed the phone to someone she called Sammy.
“Should introduce myself properly, Miss. Inspector Patel, based in Cardiff/ Looking for a favour, I’m afraid”
“Debbie spelled it out, Inspector”
“Just Sammy will do”
“Thanks. I’m Enfys. I’ve got a sort of package for you, depending on what works for your team members. How many?”
“Well, depending on how many say yes, about ten, all told. What can you offer?”
“Right. A lot depends on the weather, but walking at all levels, various difficulties of rock-climbing, canoeing, dry ski slope. Well, for North Welsh values of ‘dry’, that is”
He actually laughed at that one.
“Any less strenuous stuff?”
“Well, we have minibuses” that don’t stink of puke any more “And we can always sort out some more basic tourist stuff. Drive through the hills, visit to Caernarfon and Harlech castles, that sort of thing. There’s another bit I like, where all you do is lie down”
“Really?”
I was remembering Ish just then.
“Yes. Zip wire in the old quarries. No energy involved at all”
That brought a far more natural laugh, so I gave him our mail address.
“Send us an e-mail, Sammy. I’ll run it past the management, and we will do what I can to sort you out. That sound like a plan?”
“It does, love. Can’t guarantee dates yet; have to clear it with my own management, as well as the boys and girls, as they call themselves. Oh, and find some transport”
“We can drive you around if wanted”
“Ah, just getting there is what I meant. Not messing about with trains. Anyway, perhaps later, love. Thanks”
I hung up, Ricky looking at me with a touch of concern on his face.
“That sounded heavy, Enfys. Share?”
“Ah, maybe later. We eating at the Bryn tonight?”
“Why not? Tell you what: I’ll give my parents a ring; make it more sociable. They can argue over the driving”
In the end, Dad was tied up with some repairs to the bunkhouse, so it was just Mam and the Edwards who joined us, and we ate in the proper dining room rather than the bar. I could see people making assumptions about Ricky and me, but that was up to them. As we worked through a rather nice meal, Vic insisting it was his treat, I gave them an edited account of what we had.
Mam nodded.
“That’ll be that Pat’s friend, then. The tall woman with the hard face. And the …girls”
She looked sharply at Nansi as she spoke, and that woman nodded.
“Not the girls, though, is it?”
Something was niggling me, one of those half-formed memories that suddenly gain full definition, usually at about two in the morning, and then it hit me.
“Mam, Steph’s friend, Annie. She used to be a policewoman down that way. She might know some of them”
Mam looked up at that comment.
“Yes, love, and what I remember hearing about what she went through herself, this is a lesson in not involving more people than necessary. Now, pudding. I am feeling decadent tonight”
In the end, I did involve someone else, that night, via Skype.
‘Us’, indeed.
Comments
ah
the tying of the strands
Despite the dark, its compulsive reading.
A+
Madeline Anafrid Bell
Maddy Beat Me To It
You do like to interweave your stories, don't you? I'm not complaining, mind you. The boys and girls coming up definitely deserve a break.
McCool's
Many years ago, I saw a superbly scripted film called 'One Night At McCool's'. The cast was pretty stellar: Michael Douglas, John Goodman, Liv Tyler and Matt Dillon, and the film's conceit was a delight.
In essence, there is an incident involving an attractive woman, and there are a series of episodes which recount what a number of different men remember. Every one of them is certain that the woman loves them, and you see the same event from multiple viewpoints, and in different voices. The cast manages to alter their interpretation accordingly for each of the three 'takes'.
I mentioned in a writing thread on this site that one of the reasons I use first person non-omniscient for most of my writing is that it allows exactly that separation of 'voices'. Thus, we see Sarah (and her husband) think of herself as a sexy rock chick, and Annie see her as a hard-faced skinny blonde, and so on.
It also allows me to add background detail from the back story I prepare for each major character. Diane and Jon meet a terrifying serial killer; Debbie remembers a beaten and abused young boy, and so on.
All of my novels now are tied together, which wasn't what I intended when I first wrote the earlier ones: I simply wanted Melanie' death to spread ripples through multiple lives.
Checking timelines is a bitch, and there are multiple errors, but I do my best.
Your last response is a real confession!
It is my belief that you cannot help self referencing past stories, and resurecting their characters in the current one! Sometimes I believe you have it planned, such as the bi-generational pair "Mates" and "Rainbow . . .", but these last two did not have to involve the Sussex Tales characters, new introductions could have done just as well in place of Steph and Geoff. But the newest group and the inevitable involvement of others characters from your prior writing history is looking much more deliberate.
Besides, all these cross-links keep reminding me of my intention to go back to re-reading -- when and if I can make the time!
Meanwhile please, let's see how the therapy works out.
Best wishes
Dave
Not quite...
These people are real to me. They have hidden aspects that need to emerge...
Edit: Those back stories demand to be aired. Possibly the best examples are Siân Powell, Di Sutton and Debbie Wells. The latter two latter emerged as necessary plot elements in 'Sisters' and 'The Job', and their back stories were immense. Siân, in a different way, I felt was being treated unfairly. All through 'Cold Feet', she remained a background figure, with very little character coming to the fore. She remained a pretty redhead who liked floaty dresses and loved Elaine.
SPOILERS
'Sisters' gave me the opportunity to bring her out, as the loud, raucous soulmate of an equally loud career copper.
One other character didn't really need his story told, but there a lot of loose ends flapping around. I write of Charlie Cooper, who is definitely the worst person I have ever created, and with him his partner in depravity Don Hamilton. In the real world, villains like them don't just pop up from nowhere, but have history, roots, growth. 'Lifeline' and 'Broken Wings' allowed me to flesh that out and show 'what happened next?' after his arrest in Carlisle. It also let me hint at a couple of other issues.
It should be obvious that when Don drowned in the River Eden, he was assisted into it. Steve Elliott assumed it was one of the influential paedophile group that tried to kill him, but I always had plans based on a real case I hinted at, where a real paedophile was found in several different places, post-mortem.
It showed a couple of things, one being the deep love Carl/Goat/Pig had for Debbie, the other being exactly how hard and potentially evil Debbie actually is. Once again, that 'voice' I am allowed by writing first person: she sees herself as a damaged, vulnerable person, and in reality she shrugs at murder when the victim 'deserves it'.
Also remember, our own demographic is a very small one, and it is very likely that trans people will know many others in their area. In my own case, as quite a high profile support worker, I am very well known by most of the 'big names' in the UK, and also know many, many others, in real life as well as on the internet. That is why I tend to have my people reappear.
There is no way Annie Price could have dealt with Melanie's body without eventually running into Steph Woodruff. Sarah Powell could never have missed meeting Steph, seeing as her man played rugby for the same Customs team as her. Diane Owens, being an old flame of Annie, couldn't really avoid running into Steph. Given where Gerald Barker's boathouse is, he could hardly fail to know one or both of Laura Evans' 'Petes', especially with the army connection. Similarly, Sparky Sullivan would most definitely have known Melanie-as-Mike.
Ues, it is fun in playing with viewpoint; yes, I love many of my characters; no, it isn't easy to keep all the links in order!