CHAPTER 2
Once more I woke to a hangover, and realised I really needed to find another pastime. It wasn’t just the headache and dry mouth, nor the puking I had been doing far too often since Mam and Dad…

Break the mood, woman. I started the process of a solitary breakfast, this time a bowl of cornflakes with much more milk than I would normally have used, in an attempt to rehydrate a bit. There were other reasons to cut back, of course, not least being the need to protect my licence and my livelihood.

It all looked so obvious in the morning; it was just that the evenings left me brooding in my loneliness and solitude, and the pub was not that far, and, and, and. I decided to go for a walk, grab a bus into the City, whatever looked simple and easy. Something to burn off a little of the angst and restlessness. On with the usual rig of comfortably worn-in jeans and para boots, topped with band tee under a cheap tartan shirt and my faithful leather. A small rucksack, a quick check of the kitchen cupboards and fridge to decide what might be needed, and I headed for the front door.

There was an envelope on the mat, no stamp visible, my name written in ballpoint on the front. No address, just my name. I picked it up, ripped it open, and immediately revised my plans for the day.

Hiya Debbie
Welcome back to Wales. Saying hello this way because we didn’t want to cause any problems with your neighbours by having patches knocking at your door. Get your feet under the table properly before pissing off the straights!

Got a prezzie for you. Bring your lid and your leather and be at…

There were directions and bus numbers that would take me to an industrial estate on the way out to Rhymney, and I was intrigued. The signature, of course, was ‘Rosie and Carl’. I sat on the second step of my staircase for twenty minutes or so, reading the note over and over again, while trying to set my head in order.

Why had I moved down to Cardiff, after all, if not to be somewhere close to people I cared for, and who cared for me? He was still mine, and always would be, even if he was Rosie’s. I just needed to find a way of dealing with the situation that might move things onwards.

Fuck it, Miss Petrie. Get out into the fresh air and think it through. I found my lid, setting it on the little table I had placed by the front door, and, after making bloody sure I had mu keys, pulled my newly-owned front door shut and set off round the corner to the parade of shops. The Olive Grove was open, so I did the polite thing, remembering Fester, and bought myself a coffee before asking the woman serving me for bus advice.

“You were in a couple of days ago, weren’t you, love? With two lads?”

“Yeah. Mick and Jacko. They helped me with the move; I’ve just bought a house round the corner”

“Oh yes? Not from Cardiff, though, are you?”

“No. I was born up north, near Chester”

“Not English, though. I can hear that. I’m Ruth, and no jokes about that”

“Debbie. What jokes?”

“Not heard? Must be the first, love. Token woman, that’s the joke, when men get bad with drink. George, Ralph, Huey and Ruth”

It suddenly clicked, and I laughed out loud before making a remark about speaking to the four names on the Great White Telephone.

“You’ve got it, then. What’s brought you down here from gog land?”

I twitched at that one, and she clearly noticed.

“I was living in the Midlands, Ruth. My parents… They had an accident, and, well, nobody there for me anymore, no family. Got some friends down here, so I thought I’d make a clean break”

She reached across to pat my hand.

“So sorry to hear that, Debbie. Tings will get better. I know that sounds silly, trite, aye, but this isn’t a bad little community. Treat people well, and they’ll do the same back”

“You sound like my Dad. He was always on about doing the right thing, even for strangers. Making it more likely a stranger would do it for you”

“He sounds like he was a good man, love--- look, sit down, take these and I’ll do you a refill on the house”

I took the pack of tissues she had put into my hand, and she was across with a fresh cup of coffee as soon as I had settled myself again. As I handed back what was left of the little pack, she pulled out another chair and sat opposite me.

“Quiet now, isn’t it, and I can see the counter. Now, what are you doing down here, work wise, that is? Got a job?”

“I’m a lorry driver, ruth. I was working for a firm called Mossman’s, and the boss has some contacts down here, so I have a couple of offers, introductions, that sort of thing”

“Who with, if that’s not too nosey a question?”

“First one is a firm called Fratelli’s”

“Bert’s firm, that is, Bert Fratelli. I get a few of their lads here regular like. He seems sound, the way they talk about him. Think he’s got contracts with a couple of the supermarket chains, ‘just-in-time’ stuff”

“What’s that?”

She grinned.

“I’m a businesswoman, love. I know all about stock levels and wastage. ‘Just-in-time’ is this modern thing where you don’t stock up, you time new deliveries to come in just as the stuff on the shelves sells out. Supposed to mean you don’t have to spend money on extra storage, a warehouse behind the store, that sort of thing”

“Does that work?”

She laughed out loud, and I realised I was definitely getting to like her style and personality. My mood lifted a little more as she explained.

“Debbie, if I have a sudden rush of breakfast orders one week, and sod all the next, I don’t cut down my stocks, because the next week might bring another rush. That’s what freezers are for. I can’t carry a loss if I lose sales like that because my bacon is delivered ‘just-in-time’, so I keep a decent quantity out the back, just-in-case rather than the other. Tell you what: go onto Tesco’s, or Sainsbury, or any of those big shops, and look for the special offers on the shelves. What do you find?”

“Don’t know what you mean”

“What you find, Debbie, are gaps. There’s the offer, but the stock’s already gone. That’s what ‘just-in-time’ does. The big shops can carry that, because they sell so much other stuff, but I couldn’t. Anyway, what I was going to say, before I got ranting, was that it might mean your unloading for those deliveries might get a bit frantic, so make sure you’ve got a decent breakfast and a couple of cups of good coffee down your neck each morning”

She then fiddled with the little menu on the table, whistling in a totally obvious way, and I burst out laughing, my mood so much better.

“Hint taken, Ruth! Now, if you have any local advice, I would appreciate it, and I’m also looking for an idea of where to go for a walk. Suggestions, bus times, that sort of thing”

Sod it, I thought, and a toasted sandwich came a few minutes into her account of Places To Avoid, like the red-light district just down the road in Splott.

“You like wild things, or is it shops and stuff you want?”

“What do you mean ‘wild things’, Ruth?”

“Well. My son, Max, he’s a big bird watcher. Well, he’s not that big, yet, but you take my meaning. He goes down to Tiger Bay sometimes. OK in the daytime, it is, and if you get down by where the Taff comes out into the bay, there’s supposed to be lots of birds there, what with all the mud. You’d need some binoculars, telescope, that sort of thing”

“I’ve got a pair my Mam had, somewhere. She was a big… both of my parents were into the nature thing, in a big way. Taught me a lot”

“Well, take the rest of these tissues, aye, and go and find your binoculars, and if you’re not too late, stop in and tell me what you’ve seen”

It was a brilliant idea. I popped back to my new place, and found Mam’s old optics in a box I had marked to go up into the loft, and soon found myself on a bus for the Bay. That area was clearly not exactly the most upmarket of places, but I worked my way through the buildings until I was on the east bank of the Taff’s mouth, where the river found its way through a bleak expanse of mud flats that were broken only by little drainage channels and odd bits of marine architecture I assumed were some sort of navigation aid.

There were little groups of birds on the mud, some obviously resting gulls, while others were smaller and dark, scuttling around like clockwork toys or walking slowly, step by step, their heads down as they probed the mud. A couple of more serious birdwatchers had telescopes set up on tripods, consulting books every so often before making notes in little pads. It was all of ten minutes before one of them decided to approach me.

“Sh’mae, love. You know what you’re looking at?”

I quickly checked my exits before checking him, seeing a short man with a halo of white hair around a bald head, all over a beard to rival Gandalf’s. He looked to be in his seventies, and as he caught the way my eyes flicked around and over him, he grinned.

“Too old for that, I am, love, and the Missus would stop my beer! No, just seeing what you’re using, and you’ve got no guide, unless it’s in that rucksack. Just thought I’d offer some pointers. I’m Bert”

I felt no threat, so I stuck out my hand. “Debbie!”

I grinned at him as we shook, trying to ease any tension.

“Just moved down here, Bert. One of my new neighbours suggested this place, so I dug out my Mam’s old binoculars, and yes, I am lost. Mam and Dad showed me all sorts of stuff, but it was all inland. Owl pellets and that, yeah?”

He nodded.

“Right… the thing here is that it all changes with the tide. Water goes out, birds go out with it, so you need a decent scope to see them properly. Then you want a proper guide book, to tell you what’s what. Hang on while I set my scope up for you”

Over the next two hours, he showed me four different sorts of gulls, redshanks, dunlin, several other wading birds, and a couple of curlew.

“I’ve heard them, Bert, just not seen them”

“Where was that?”

“Up in Northumberland, when…when my Mam and Dad went. Where we sprinkled their ashes. Sorry, betting a bit too personal”

“Not at all, love, not at all. I see why… What work do you do, love?”

“I’m a driver. Wagons”

Suddenly, he was laughing.

“Bugger me, this must be the weirdest job interview I’ve ever done!”

“Eh?”

“You Deborah Wells, by any chance?”

“How’d you know that?”

A grin through his beard.

“Bert Fratelli, love! We have an appointment in a couple of days. Now, shall we get that out of the way here and now, while the birds are calling, and the sun is almost out?”

I rode the bus back to my new address in a much better mood, revelling in the fact that I had, yet again, walked into exactly the right stranger just when I needed them most. I ate my evening meal at Ruth’s, leaving her almost crying with laughter as I explained my encounter with the old man. I left the pub alone that evening, and the next day caught the bus out to the industrial estate in a much better mood, as well as being without a hangover, my lid beside me on the bench seat.

Off at the stop I needed, looking around for any clues to the reason for our meeting, before spotting a small group of bikes parked on the far side of a great sweep of car parking spaces. Their riders were waving their arms over their heads, so I waved back and trudged over to them.

Rosie, of course, and Sam. And Carl. Class, Debbie. We spoke and hugged our hellos, as Rosie introduced another couple of people, including a solid man in Culhwch colours.

Carl laid his hand on my shoulder.

“Debbie Petrie, this is Oily. He’s my brother, and he’s also my brother, if you take my meaning. Bro, Debbie here’s my sister-in-law, like I told you”

Oily nodded.

“Yup. Got you, bro. Hiya, girl. Got your lid?”

“Yeah. Where are we going?”

“Round this car park for now, love. That’s why we brought the prospect here”

He indicated Sam, who grinned.

“At least I only had to ride it one way, Debbie! Going back on Oily’s afterwards. Brought this for you”

I realised that there while there were three bikes, one was Carl’s Triumph, another was clearly his brother’s ride, a heavily modified and very large Kawasaki with ape-hanger bars. The third was much smaller, a conventional single-cylinder Honda with a fully-enclosed chain, wearing L-plates. Sam, as ever, had to over-explain things.

“I got a full licence, Debbie, so I don’t really need L=plates, cause they are for learners, and I’m not, but somebody had to ride it down, and I’m still a prospect, so it was my job, but I’m riding back with Oily”

I stared at the Hinda, and Rosie coughed for my attention.

“We knew you didn’t have a bike licence, love, and we thought while you can drive the big buggers, they aren’t something you can run around town in, or rally on. It’s a reliable little bike, easy to run, and uses almost no petrol. We thought, well, get you started, get your test, then move onto something worthwhile. Give you a few lessons here in the car park before you ride it home. I sorted out a cover note for you, and it’s got tax and M.O.T.”

I stepped forward for a proper embrace.

‘Sister-in-law’. I had no complaints about that idea. Make the best of what you can get, Debbie.