“Alright. See ya, bro.”
Turning towards the exit, Sion began battling his way out of there, towards his taxi home.
Jac jostled his way back over to the table with his tray of shots held high. Then, with the group of girls, they began slamming them down together.
As a fourth round was being bought, taking the tall girl’s hand, Jac moved with her into a booth where they made-out until her friends came to find her.
The club was closing.
Staggering a little uneasily, arm in arm, they made their way back with the group to a student flat, a couple of streets behind the seafront.
“This is me.”
The scruffy-looking four-storey tenement was typical student digs.
Empty spirit bottles on one of the front window ledges. A large faded Welsh flag suspended from another. And the lights were all still on, even though they were halfway to dawn.
As the other girls wobbled through the door, Jac drew the blonde back to him.
“Wanna come up?” she whispered into his mouth.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Jac followed her unsteady climb up the stairs.
The tequila was beginning to wear off by now.
Sitting at the kitchen table under the glare of a strip-light, Jac could see that she looked young. Twenty? Twenty-two at the most.
It sobered him some more.
She made him a coffee, splashing milk and coffee granules everywhere in the process.
She was shitfaced.
Plonking it down beside him and sloshing coffee onto the table, she then boldly straddled him, pulling her blonde hair back off her shoulders as she wriggled onto him on the kitchen chair.
Her mouth drunkenly found his and her tongue hungrily explored as she kissed him hard.
What the Hell was he doing?
“Jo?” he said, suddenly pulling away.
“Jen.”
“Yeah, Jen.”
He moved her hand off him.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a taxi to catch.”
She pouted at him.
“You can stay if you want?”
“Another time. I’ve gotta go.”
Rising from the chair, he grabbed his coat and darted from there as quickly as he dared; down the tenement stairs to the street below and into the cold night air.
Closing the door, he slipped swiftly away, until there were at least two streets between them.
Then he stopped.
It was half-past four.
He walked back to outside the club and tried the last two taxis still in the rank. But none of them would take him. They shook their heads and pulled up their side windows. It was too far.
Pulling his coat up as high as the zip would go, Jac wandered the deserted, dark streets listening out for a party. Survival training, he joked to himself. If he found one, he’d go up there, get warm, crash out on a settee.
But, by now even the students were in bed.
The March wind blasted in hard off the sea, battering his cheeks.
Jees it was cold!
He should have stayed with Jo.
Damn her! Annie had killed it for him.
He couldn’t have her, and he didn’t want anyone else.
He was screwed.
There was irony in that, he realised, as he found a bench in a bus shelter and tried to huddle himself warm.
He was a tough army boy. He’d lain in a fox hole in Sangin, he was sure he would survive a bitter March night in Aberystwyth. But how long could he survive living on the farm with Annie around?
Annie, who only thought the worst of him.
Alun had sought him out in The Cross Keys a couple of evenings ago. Flown a couple of ideas by him. He’d have time to chew those over some more now.
Perhaps it would be best to cut and run? Start afresh somewhere new, far away from here.
It had been a mistake coming home.
Leaving a message on Sion’s phone, he curled himself up tightly. It was going to be a shiveringly cold few hours until the first cafés opened.
CHAPTER 15
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It’s a week later when I make it back to the farm in Trusty Rusty. And the old girl’s loaded up to the brim with boxes, bags and bin liners. The sum total of my London life.
My apartment is now stripped bare. The furniture’s been sold, and the keys are back with the letting agent.
I’m done with London. And my old career.
I’m ready for a new start.
And on my last evening there, I sent a brief resignation email to Lisa. I didn’t go into any details, and despite Callista’s pep talks, I held firm on my decision not to name Seb.
I haven’t in any way got it all figured out, but after sitting in a London café one long afternoon, trying to decide what to do, the truth screamed at me hard.
It was a question of geography, after all.
My life’s no longer there. It belongs, if I’m being honest, with my heart, back in Wales.
And so, with much trepidation, I’ve come home.
To do what?
I’m not exactly sure yet. The rent for the farm will keep me afloat, but I’ll need a challenge to keep me busy and I’ve been bouncing some ideas around.
“Wow!”
I put my keys on the hook and take a good look around, noting all the changes. The kitchen’s been transformed.
The old wallpapered walls have been stripped back and painted a light cream. The pine units have been painted too, a pigeon grey. It makes the space modern yet homely. And the door handles have been swapped too. They’re now copper.
“You like it?”
Sion appears with paint flecked across his face.
“I love it.”
“And I’ve made a start on the lounge.”
I run my hand over the wooden countertops. They’ve been sanded back to a pale butchers-block finish.
“I can’t believe you’ve done all this, Sion. It’s amazing.”
“Jac did that.”
My eyes widen.
“He did?”
“Yeah; and picked the colours and the handles.”
“I’m glad I kept you both busy.”
“Been on it non-stop, apart from Sunday.”
“Hungover?”
“Hmm. Went out with the boys Saturday night to Aber.”
“Jac go too?”
Sion clears his throat.
“D’ya wanna hand with your stuff?”
He takes a look at the jam-packed truck.
“Travelling light?”
“I’m moving back home.”
It feels so good.
???
For the next week, I busy myself by sorting the house out. Unpacking my stuff, buying new curtains, a rug for the lounge, and undertaking the grim task of clearing out my parents’ things. It’s a mammoth task, with several trips to the charity shops and the rubbish tip, but it’s also cathartic. I go to the solicitors too and start the process of probate.
It’s confirmed. The farm is mine.
“Jac okay?” I ask Sion, as I help him paint the stairs. “I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him all week.”
“He’s busy getting the shed ready for lambing.”
Sion's making excuses for Jac, but his continued absence makes me feel nauseous.
At first, when I heard about him helping with the kitchen, I thought that I might be forgiven for what I said. But as I haven’t seen him even once since I came home, I’m now convinced that I’ve trashed any chance that we might have of being together.
As I brush, I chew it over some more.
What if the kitchen was a subtle message from him? Helping me to sell the farm. To get out of here?
“Tell me about the army,” I ask Sion, trying to push those fears away.
“What d’ya wanna know?”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“I dunno if ‘enjoy’ is the right wor
d. There were fantastic times, and one or two moments of sheer Hell.”
He falls silent and focuses his concentration on his roller.
“When did you meet Jac?”
“Day one. In the Welsh Guards. He’s always had my back.”
“He said about you both having to clean the toilets with a toothbrush?”
“When did he tell you that?”
I feel myself going bright red. It was in his first letter.
“So, you were in combat together too?”
“Yeah. Afghanistan twice. Had a couple of sticky moments. I got stuck in a building with snipers on me. Jac’s truck hit an IUD.”
“Were either of you hurt?”
“No. We both lived to tell the tale. Helped us get on, to be honest. We both got selected to try out for the special forces after that.”
Special forces? I had no idea Jac was an elite soldier.
“Do you miss it?”
“Honestly? Yes, I do. When you’re in the army, everything’s structured. When you leave, you’ve suddenly gotta fend for yourself.”
“I guess Jac’s got the farming. What about you?”