CHAPTER 15
School itself was steadily becoming a more serious affair than it had ever been before, because those of us who were capable of joined up thoughts could now see how the next six years or so would decide the rest of our lives. It didn’t mean that we lost all sense of fun, but rather that we could see how many bites we would be allowed at the notional cherry of a future that was more than a dead end.

There were some, of course, who didn’t or couldn’t see things like that, Ifor Watkins and his hangers-on being perfect examples of the type. His future was assured, in a way, for as long as his father didn’t do anything stupid, the boy was guaranteed a home and a job, even if it would be the arduous one of a sheep farmer. What might happen once his father retired, or passed away, was another question. Unless Ifor changed radically after school, I predicted a departure from the farm followed by the installation of a new tenant. The National Park didn’t stretch as far as the Watkins place, but the Council tended to work closely with them. So much of the local economy was tied up in tourism, and one eyesore of a farm could have a negative impact that reached far beyond its furthest drystone wall.

We still kept to our groups, though, in our accustomed spots around the playground. What changed there were the topics we discussed. Sali and the others still gossiped about whichever boy band star they had spotted, there were still obsessive discussions about clothes and cosmetics, along with snipes at various teachers, but more and more, the girls were talking about the schoolwork they were struggling with, and swapping tips.

It still didn’t stop them giggling over what I felt were crap posers in crap bands with crap haircuts. My family had clearly spoiled me as a target for the typical teenage girl marketing ploys.

Things took an edgier turn as we worked through Spring and past Easter, and both my homework and labours in the bunkhouse got heavier. I saw the Woodruffs several times, although they always camped up at Gwern Gof Uchaf, and there were other regulars who seemed to have their spots on a timeshare basis, up at the same time of year, every year. Both May bank holidays were notable for that, one solo man turning up like clockwork on a very big Kawasaki with a specially made box on its rear carrier, rack, whatever they called it, in which he carried an amazing set of photographic equipment. He always came on the second of the May holidays, and when I asked why, he made some comment about the weather being settled, and then, with a grin, added his trump card.

“No midges yet!”

Neil was his name, and he and Dad took me out one day so that he could show me what he did, which was amazingly intricate games with what he called SRT—single rope technique. We were at one of the Dinorwic quarry pits, with Dad leading me up an HVS to get back out, and Neil simply abseiled down his ‘single rope’ and used a Jumar to lock himself in place. That was when I felt like an idiot, for while I had been amazed at that video Dad had shown me about Pete Livesey and Chris Bonington, I had missed the simple but obvious fact that someone else must have been dangling next to them to use the camera. That was Neil’s game, whether filming other climbers in action or taking pin-sharp close-up shots for climbing guide books. He left us with some magical images, as well as a shudder-filled confession.

I had asked him about the SRT, which was amazing in what it let him do, both in ascending and descending, and he had just grinned.

“What it is, Enfys, is that I am not really a climber. I prefer caving; lots of SRT in that”

Dad had muttered something that sounded like ‘Loony’, and Neil had grinned.

“No, not at all. Some lovely places down below, just takes a bit of a wriggle and a squeeze to get to them”

That was bad enough, but he hadn’t stopped there.

“Course, I have a special waterproof one with extra padding, for the diving”

Stupidly, I bit.

“Supposed to be good diving off Trearddur”

A roar of laughter.

“No, love! In the caves!”

When I found out what he meant, I realised I had found a very hard limit to what I was willing to try.

No. Just no.

June brought another new experience that wasn’t quite as bad as cave diving, but was still unnerving, and that was a practice exam in each of my subjects. They weren’t formal ‘mock’ exams, but our teachers did their best with separate desks and watched clocks to get the idea across. That was the week I started questioning my dreams of a career; I had the following year’s studies to get through, then two years of my A-levels, and then at least three years of university, and all of a sudden, I was doubting my ability to cope.

Oddly, it was Mrs Preece who picked me up, taking me to a private room for a few minutes of coaching in exam technique, which made me see that she was actually a decent teacher, despite her bitchiness towards my lover.

“Enfys, there is a structure to each exam. We try and make our mocks as close to the real thing as we can, in that structure. First thing you can do is to break down the time available…”

Slowly and carefully, she talked me through pacing and how to open an answer. I caught on quite quickly at her advice for the narrative tests, which was to put something down straight away, even if it was a restatement of the question, as that turned an intimidating sheet of blankness into something with the start of an answer on it, but I was confused by her pacing advice.

“Miss, I don’t understand that bit. When you add up those chunks of time, it comes to less than the final time limit”

“Enfys, two things. The second is that it gives you time to read through your answers, and trust me, there will be things you’ve got wrong, like spelling mistakes, or bad handwriting. The first is simply doing what I told you to do at the very beginning: read the question. More than once. Make sure you are answering the question, or that you have answered it, and now what you think it asked”

She snorted suddenly, as something tickled her.

“Enfys, define ‘relief’ for me”

“Um, feeling safe, happy almost, when something bad doesn’t happen?”

“Fair enough. I wrote something like that for the same question when I was your age. Trouble was, it was in a Geography exam”

“Um… Oh! I see! So it should have been, er, variation of elevation in a landscape?”

“Textbook answer, Miss Hiatt. See what I mean? Use that extra time to ask yourself questions like that. Do not think, with quarter of an hour to go, that you’re done, because as soon as you walk out, you will think of something stupid you have written, and that’s too late to fix it”

I spoke to Mam about her advice, and she nodded.

“So she’s not just an old witch, then? Don’t be surprised—I have heard what you two say about her. Anyway, she’s spot on, and we have some evening time, and I have downloaded some old papers, and…”

That was my free time vanished, but it all seemed to work, and after a stupidly stressful time, I managed to get through both the ‘mock mocks’ and my self-doubt. In fact, my results shocked me in how good they were. They were handed to each of us at Registration one morning, Mrs Preece simply looking smug as my jaw dropped, but she was still a cow towards Alys. I couldn’t have it all, it seemed.

We broke for that Summer, which meant losing Alys’ parents for their river and castles trip, and what I thought would be a long break of rambling and scrambling with Mam and my girl was immediately scuppered. Mam had Summer School, it seemed, and a lot of that was for what she had earlier described as English catch-up.

That was the first time I used that word I had heard from Steph, used it in anger and actually said it aloud.

Arsebollocks.

We worked, though, the two of us, because it was the peak season for the bunkhouse, and while our duties were never onerous, especially with the two of us working together, it put the brakes on my dreams of warm rock and fair-weather cumulus. I greeted many regulars, of course, and that meant the chance to do some moderately hard stuff, including my first visit to the great slash of the Vivian quarry, where Neil had told me of the infamous drowned car.

Apparently, Neil had claimed, the deep pool at the foot of the quarry has a drowned pinnacle in its centre upon which is balanced the wreckage of an old car. I wondered how much truth that might hold, but I decided that I didn’t fancy actually checking it out—I was still shuddering at his description of crawling through narrow underwater tunnels towing an oxygen cylinder at the end of a rope.

Still no.

So I got my climbing, and Alys was given a real surprise when a team of students turned up for a fortnight, for a mapping project. I was used to the geology students, who always wanted to map Cwm Idwal, but these boys were botanists, and their area of work was up the Ogwen River behind the caravan park and onto the edge of the slate quarry. It wasn’t my idea of the most scenic spot to spend several days, but Alys was almost ecstatic.

“Remember when we went to that bus top quarry place, Enfys? What I said about the way the plants were coming back? Well there’s soe of that, and there’s some woodland, and then the river and…”

She had followed her rhapsody with a list of worts and birds and mosses, and I simply let her carry on, until she mentioned dippers.

“That’s a special memory, love”

She grinned, in a very soppy way.

“Keep calling me that! What memory?”

“I was very little, and Mam and Dad took me to the Fairy Bridge under the road. Up by Idwal, yeah? And where the water is coming out of the lake, just starting to build up speed over the rocks, but before the falls? I saw one there. Just walking over the rocks, then straight down under the water, still walking, and I wanted to throw it a bit of my sandwich, but Dad just says, this is where you learn to just sit, be patient, be part of the world”

A softer smile from her.

“Yes. Not making a load of lists and everything like we are doing, you mean? Well, tough! I can still enjoy stuff even when writing a list!”

Happy, happy days.

Her parents were back in the middle of August, and that meant another night with videos and photographs, where Mr Edwards claimed that he needed our help.

“Simple stuff, girls: I need to know which pictures work best, and I especially need choices for front cover, back cover and frontispiece. Then we can sort out the other thing”

I prodded him several times, but he wouldn’t give any more details until we were at the end of the video travelogue.

“What do you all think? Any of them jump out at you?”

Alys waved for attention.

“Can I be cheeky, Dad?”

“Depends on how cheeky you are, love”

“Well, I think there’s one thing that would work well, break up all the castle pictures, and that’s one of Mam’s pictures. Those scallops?”

“Hmmm…”

“What you do is have two pictures on the same page, the other one being the ceiling in that restaurant, the one with all the stained glass?”

“The one in Tours? Interesting idea… Not saying no, but it might work! Nice one, love”

“I just thought the glass was really gorgeous, and that pan was interesting, as you put it”

Dad laughed out loud at that word.

“Alys, love, that word in a climbing guide usually means ‘bloody terrifying’!”

We were clearly coming to the end of the evening, a few empty bottles to sort out for recycling, and Dad was in his own happy place as a result. Not drunk, not even really tipsy, but just relaxed, part of his world, and I asked myself how often he had managed to reach that place in his soul when they had been living in Luton. Mr Edwards was laughing as well.

“Keith, some of the prices were bloody terrifying, but the food was a delight. Sod going to Paris; the waiters were actually friendly as well. Anyway, back to the other thing. Got an offer for you, girls, and it involves the Woodruffs. August bank holiday, just before you go back to school. Weekend away. You two, not us. Steph’n’Geoff will meet you off the train, and they are being amazingly generous”

From her expression, Alys was obviously confused.

“When did this get planned, Dad?”

“Before we went away, love. Enfys, do you still play the whistles your Mam got you?”

I nodded, just as confused as Alys.

“Yes, but I’m a little out of practice since I got my harp”

“That’s the point. You can’t carry a harp on the train, or not easily. You will need sleeping bags and mats, but no tent. And take dancing shoes”