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The Price To Pay - Vol. 5.04 - Celyn’s Christmas
(Introducing Mr Screwem Copyright © Angharad)

“I’m really not sure about this,” I said for what seemed like the thousandth time as I turned away from the train window to look at Amarjit.

The arm around my waist squeezed me a little tighter, “It’s going to be fine, you know that love.”

“I wish I shared your confidence. It just feels like a big, big mistake....”

The sound of the train conductor interrupted me, ‘Tickets please.’

I turned to look back at the white winter wonderland rapidly forming outside in the heavy snow storm while Amarjit fished out our tickets. The last train from Paddington to South Wales on Christmas Eve was jam packed with tired but cheerful looking travellers. We had been very lucky to manage to reserve two seats after our last minute decision to journey back for a few days.

‘The next stop will be Reading in five minutes. Reading is the next stop. Great Western Railways would like to apologise to passengers departing the train in Reading for the late arrival of the train. This was caused by the wrong type of politician travelling in the first class carriage.’

The bizarre announcement made me smile and I turned to look at Amarjit whose face showed she was sharing my amusement. The sound of raised voices caught our attention towards a small group of people walking towards us from the direction of the posher section of the train.

“...and this ticket clearly says standard class on November 23rd. So not only do you not have a valid ticket for this particular train you are also sitting in a higher class of seating than you are entitled to,” said the uniformed train steward as he motioned for the MP and his aide to follow him towards the rear of the train.

The chinless Chancellor blustered in response, “Look my man, I have an important event to attend in the Boar’s Arms in Bristol this evening and I need to prepare my briefs. Remember that I run this country, I can travel when I please. How can someone like me be expected to suffer the plebeian delights of travelling cattle class.”

“...I’m telling you again Mr Screwem, it doesn’t matter to me if you’re the Chancellor of The Exchequer or the President of the Universe, you can’t travel in a first class carriage without paying the fare. You can explain this to the British Transport Police at Reading station or you can pay your excess fare and stand like an ordinary passenger.”

The sounds of the argument retreated down the carriage as the group of men moved out of earshot. There were mutterings from fellow passenger in nearby seats.

“.. disgraceful behaviour..”

“.. and he runs the economy!”

“..we’d be arrested if...”

The train slowed and pulled into the station while Amarjit handed our tickets to the conductor to be checked. I watched as people swarmed out of and into the train. I studied the relief on the faces of those departing, at the end of an arduous journey, and the anxiety of those beginning their travels. I once again considered the wisdom of facing my family after my emotional departure some six weeks previously.

I was interrupted from my reverie by Amarjit’s touch on my cheek, “I forgot to ask you, did you pack your ‘Julien MacDonald’?”

I brushed back some stray hairs and smiled at my lover, “I might have, why?”

“What else can you wear at the year 12 party? You look so hot in it.”

“What party is that?” I asked, suddenly feeling uneasy.

“The Christmas Eve one at Meryl’s house tonight. She sent me a text this morning inviting us.”

“Amarjit, I can’t. I’m not ready to face her and Sion yet, not after the way everything went wrong last time.”

My girlfriend put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me towards her, “Listen sweetheart, you’ll have to meet them again sometime. There’s going to be lots of your other friends there and I’ll be with you.”

“I really don’t know...”

“Celyn, it’s going to be OK, we’re only here for a few days and then we’re away from it all back in Southall.”

The train suddenly jerked forward and then slowly built up speed as it pulled out of the station. I lay my head on Amarjit’s soft shoulder and wondered about the wisdom about seeing my former boyfriend and girlfriend again. I recalled the bitterness of their rejection which had only faded as my move to London had given me a new school, an eclectic circle of friends and a deeper relationship with Amarjit.

The train reached a cruising speed and soon the repeating vibrations and sounds of its motion induced drowsiness. I closed my eyes and embraced the arms of morpheus.

I was roused from my slumbers by a hand roughly shaking me and a loud male voice speaking nearby, “Smile darlin!”

“Don’t you dare!” shouted Amarjit while simultaneously putting her women’s magazine over my face.

I saw the flash of the camera from behind the paper protection and heard the male voice continue, “Come on Celyn, love, just one picture and a few words and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Celyn don’t say anything!” said Amarjit to me before turning her ire on the man, “get lost you creep.”

I felt the man attempt to pull the magazine away from my face and so I grabbed it with my two hands and held it over my face. For a few seconds there was a tussle between us and then the man's greater strength and better position prevailed.

With a triumphant "Whoop!" the protection was pulled away from my face. I looked up at the sneering, podgy journalist.

"Nice outfit, love, that'll look good in the picture," he commented, as he looked down the front of my low cut top.

"Leave her alone, you slob!" shouted Amarjit.

By now our brief but noisy altercation had started to attract the attention of our fellow passengers in the carriage. I noticed a nearby middle aged woman get out of her seat and begin to move quickly towards the nearby buffet car.

"So why did you run away then tranny boy?" asked the ugly newspaper man as he lined up his bulky digital camera to take some shots.

"None of your damn business," I retorted and then before he could react I stretched forward and deftly kicked the camera out of his hands. I jumped out of my seat, turned quickly and jumped to intercept the camera before its trajectory smashed it into the metal luggage rack.

I quickly located the SD card, removed it and placed it in my trouser pocket. I then returned the camera to the nonplussed paparazzo and sat back down.

He looked at me, lost for words, for a few seconds before grunting, “What have you done, you bitch? Those pictures are worth thousands for pounds.”

Amarjit laughed, “Lol, you should have thought of that before you started harassing us you idiot.”

I smiled sweetly at him, “If you give me your address I’ll send it back to you after I’ve deleted any pictures you took of me without my permission.”

The man edged towards me menacingly, “Why you skank......”

“I wouldn’t if I was you, mate,” said a deep masculine voice, causing the paparazzo to step back.

Amarjit and I turned round to locate our unexpected protector.

I mouthed a thank you to the tall, broad, very fit looking man in his early twenties, who stood a foot or so behind me, supported by his two similarly buff friends.

Further confrontation was prevented by the arrival of the train guard, who escorted the harassing photojournalist away. The unexpected turn of events had so confused him that he forgot to give me any contact details to receive the edited SD card. I briefly considered physically disposing of the tiny plastic device there and then, no doubt sparing a range of other people unlucky to in the public eye the embarrassment of further exposure. Amarjit cautioned against this and suggested I keep it safely after deleting anything related to me personally, since if he ever contacted me for its return there was no way I could prove that any other subjects of his photos had not given permission and therefore that the images were not his lawful property.

The rest of the journey passed uneventfully apart from a little gentle flirting from our putative rescuers, a little rising concern with the increasing snowfall outside and the further slipping of the train’s timetable.

At each further stop, the excuses of the train announcer became increasingly bizarre.

‘….wrong type of snow...’

‘...discoloured leaves on the line...’

‘...poorly matching paint...’

Finally, we arrived at our destination, Casnewydd Canolog, and the surreal nature of the journey reached new heights.

‘Casnewydd Canolog is the next stop. Great Western Railways would like to apologise to passengers departing the train in Casnewydd for the late arrival of the train. This was due to a previous derailment of Santa’s sleigh and presents on the line. Ho ho ho hope you have a merry christmas.’

Ten minutes later we were in Mum’s car speeding out of the city. For a while we chatted about our journey, including the incident with the pompous MP, but leaving out mention of the unpleasant photojournalist.

After a few minutes we all lapsed into silence while Mum negotiated some heavy Christmas Eve traffic, that added to the slightly slippery road, was slowing our progress.

A few more minutes later, with conditions easing a little, Mum glanced towards my lover sitting in the front seat.

“Amarjit could I ask you a question?”

“Of course Mrs Morus.”

“Are you like Taran? You know, Celyn’s sister.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Mrs Morus.”

“Well Celyn never talks about you having a boyfriend or anything so I wondered, you know.”

There was a silence in the car for a second

Amarjit smiled and then responded, “I am a lesbian like Taran, Mrs Morus and I love your daughter.”

“Of course you do dear...” Mum replied a little absently as she concentrated on entering a busy roundabout.

She exited the roundabout onto the motorway started to accelerate,

“That’s lovely the two of you make a nice couple....”

Suddenly she braked and pulled over to the hard shoulder almost causing a major road traffic accident as cars behind were forced to slow down abruptly in their turn.

The car came to an abrupt halt. Mum turned round to look at me and started to talk almost like a stream of consciousness, “Oh no not you, Celyn, how can you be a lesbian too, that’s terrible. I’ve only got used to you being a girl and you had Sion, he’s a lovely boy and then you split and then I thought you had a new boy in London. I’m never going to a grandmother now......”

I put my hand on her shoulder, “Mum, you’re being silly, you know perfectly well that lesbians can have children.”

She calmed down a little at this reassurance and then laughed at her own faux-pas when I reminded her of the biological impossibility of me ever giving her a grandchild.

“Yes, of course. Well I suppose there’s always adoption.”

After a few moments collecting herself, she started the car up and carefully merged with the busy traffic, continuing our journey.

Thinking to calm her down further I ventured, “Anyway Mum I still like boys too.”

Of course this was a mistake and we almost had an accident as my Mother turned round to look at me and the car veered alarmingly to the edge of the lane.

“Mrs Morus, the road,” warned Amarjit, urgently.

“Celyn, you don’t mean you’re one of those bisensuals are you?” my Mum asked, this time without turning to look at me, “You’re not going to get into those dirty films are you, that’s disgusting and I thought you’d get a good career like a doctor or debt collector, I just don’t understand, we brought you up to eat your greens.”

Amarjit turned to me and rolled her eyes, “Mrs Morus, Celyn is just saying she’s attracted to boys and girls, not that she wants to jump into bed with everyone she meets.”

“And by the way, Mum, the term is bisexual. On the baby front, if you’re really concerned, you never know, maybe Taran might have some good news for you someday.”

She looked at me wide eyed, “She’s not, is she?”

I shrugged, “I can’t tell you anything, sorry.”

“Anyway she’ll never have a baby she always wears trousers.”

At that stage both Amarjit and I decided that further discussion with my Mum in her present mindset was, given the state of the roads, potentially life threatening and resolved to be quiet. She touched her lips to indicate this and I nodded my agreement.

Finally we arrived home and exhausted went to lie down on my bed to sleep for a few hours in order to have enough energy to attend Meryl’s party.

It was 9pm when we pulled into the drive of Meryl’s home. From the sounds coming from within the party was already in full swing.

I got out of the car and tried to pull down my dress to cover a few more millimetres of my exposed thighs. I pulled my coat tightly around me as protection against the continued flurries of snow.

“Are you sure about this, I sort of feel I should have worn trousers like you,” I asked.

“Celyn you look fantastic, good enough to eat, with whipped cream and brandy sauce,” she replied as she took my hand and led me towards the front door.

“Isn’t it strange?” I asked as we stood outside ready to enter.

Amarjit turned to me, “What’s strange?”

“How comfortable I have become to feel about being the ‘girl’ in our relationship.”

“Lol Celyn, we’re both girls and you look very sexy in that dress. Let’s go and have fun!”

She opened the door and soon we were lost in a melee of hugs and greetings. It felt so good to be with all my long time school friends again and time passed very quickly as I swapped experiences of the last weeks.

Some hours later as the party took a pause for food I found myself sitting next to Amarjit.

“Thanks Amarjit, I so glad you persuaded me, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

“It’s great to see you so happy again, love”

We sat there for a while, holding hands, contented with our world. Finally Amarjit had to go to the loo and I was left sitting alone

“Hey you,” said Sion, as he sat down next to me.

I smiled back, “Hiya Sion.”

“I’m glad you came, are you having a good time?”

“It’s great to see all my old friends again,” I replied.

There was a pause and I could see that Sion was trying to formulate the words to say something ‘deep and profound’.

To preempt any possible embarrassment I gently touched his forearm, “Sion this isn’t the time for apologies and recriminations. We had some great times and I’m glad we got together, but we have to move on now.”

He looked at me, a little open mouthed, I had clearly stolen his thunder and he seemed unsure what to do next. Then abruptly he smiled,” You’re right this is a party, time to have fun, wanna dance?”

I took his hand and we joined the throng in the middle of the room. I was soon lost in the music and movement and the presence of my sexy, former boyfriend moving near to me. He moved closer and put his mouth near my ear.

“I didn’t realise you had a thing with Amarjit?”

“She loves me Sion.”

“What about you, how do you feel?”

I paused to consider. How did I feel about her. It wasn’t the strong passions I’d had for Sion. I looked over to her, chatting with Meryl, and felt a warmness stirring inside me. I turned back to Sion.

“I’m falling for her too.”

He smiled at my response and we continued to dance without any further conversation for a few more songs.

The change of musical tone, the first few bars of one of my favourite slower songs ‘Ohne Dich’, seemed a natural time to return to my seat with Amarjit. I thanked Sion and started to move away.

He reached for my hand and held it, “One last dance, Celyn. I know this is a song you love.”

I smiled at him remembering and let myself be gently pulled into an embrace.

We began to move slowly to the achingly sad song. I felt his hand gently brush my hair. He caressed my neck as we pressed close to each other.

He pulled me closer and his hand continued along my bare shoulder.

“I never stopped loving you, Celyn,” he whispered, “you’re so beautiful.”

Despite my earlier resolve I felt my body begin to respond to his caresses and his tenderness as we swayed together.
I looked up into his eyes. His lips gently touched mine. I began to a feel a physical need growing inside me. I pressed my lips against his. I knew I still wanted him.

“You’re so sexy, Celyn,” Sion murmured, “such a sexy girl.”

Suddenly his words, instead of inspiring longing, caused an emotional dissonance within me.

I pushed him away, “You said I wasn’t a real girl! No! No! You can’t do this to me!”

I turned and ran over to Amarjit, oblivious to the stares of the abruptly motionless dancers.

“Please get me out of here,” I pleaded as I felt the tears welling up.

Between my sobs Amarjit managed to dress me in my coat and lead me out to the car. The snow had settled heavily on the screen and it took her a while to clear it adequately to ensure safe driving. I sat still in the cold car, feeling emotionally drained.

Amarjit got into the driver’s seat, gave my hand a squeeze and then started the car. Soon we were making our way carefully through the snowbound streets. Luckily the council had heavily gritted and road surface was fairly passable.

As the car warmed up and we increased the distance from Meryl’s house I began to feel better.

“I’m sorry about how the party ended, Amarjit,” I said softly.

“Nothing to be sorry about, love. You’ve chosen me and I’m happy about that.”

“Yes. I’ve definitely chosen you, Amarjit.”

About an hour later we finally reached my house. Amarjit parked the car and we made our physically and emotionally exhausted way to our refuge.

Suddenly the peel of church bells rang out from nearby Eglwys Dewi Sant.*

“What’s that for?” asked Amarjit.

I paused to think and then remembered a long forgotten family tradition, “It must be the end of the midnight service, it’s Christmas day.”

“Well in that case Merry Christmas, my love,” whispered Amarjit as she turned to me and kissed me gently.

“Nadolig Llawen, fy nghariad**.”

The character 'Mr Screwem' appears by arrangement with its creator Angharad
*Saint David’s Church - Anglican - Episcopalian
**’Merry Christmas, my love’

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To Be Continued

End of Vol. 5.04