Tide of souls, p.25
Tide of Souls, page 25
They don't serve booze, but I could get by without for now. I was more hungry than anything else, so I took a table near the fire and ordered ham and duck eggs. I got a coffee as well, and drank it slowly. Outside, gulls wheeled low, letting out their mournful, repetitious cries.
Sally, one of the staff, came up. "Want another?"
She was about eighteen, with dark roots showing in her dyed-blonde hair. In my bad old days, I'd been known to sail close to the wind when it came to some of my students. Not anymore.
"Please."
"Same again?"
"Thanks."
She went back to the counter. It wasn't common practice - customers normally went and got their own refills - but she knew me and liked to save me the trouble. That day, I could've quite cheerfully gone to the counter under my own steam, but it was still nice to be waited on by a pretty girl. Even if it was more out of pity than anything else.
The café was quiet, but far from empty. As well as locals, people still came to the coast this time of year. Not the family holiday crowd, but it was a nice time of year for hill-climbing and watching the late autumn leaves fall. When the weather permitted, anyway.
I ate slowly. No rush. Besides, despite the booze and smoking, I still had a sense of taste. Might as well enjoy myself. I finished my meal, and lingered over the second cup of coffee. Sally collected my plate and offered another refill. I dug out the crumpled paperback I'd stuffed in my coat pocket before venturing out. Time passed.
"Mind if I join you?"
I looked up, but even before I saw her face I knew I was caught. A long black dress clung to a sleek, curved figure. Small, pale hands; pink nail varnish.
Her face was a pale oval, black hair piled on top. Large, dark eyes, a red rosebud of a mouth, pencilled eyebrows. A sharp nose, high cheekbones. A strong, handsome face overall. Not my usual type, but still...
She didn't look like a Goth. Maybe she'd just come from a funeral? But I didn't get that impression, either.
I didn't answer at first. I was - struck. Actually, smitten might be the proper term. She cocked her head slightly; raised her eyebrows, parted her lips.
"Sorry. Yes. Please do."
"Thanks." She sat. "I won't disturb your reading -"
"No, it's OK." I closed the book. "Nice to have a little company."
She smiled embarrassedly and looked down. Christ's sake, Stiles; a little less forward would be nice.
"Sorry - I just meant -"
"No, it's OK. Really. It's nice of you. I'm here with friends, but... They have different interests to me."
"Oh?"
"Well, they're off quad-biking today. And tonight... tonight they'll be roaring drunk and stoned."
"Not your thing?"
She twitched her nose and shook her head. "I'm a quiet kind of girl. Very boring, I know. Much rather go up in the hills or the woods and stand there looking out to sea."
"Yeah. I'm the same."
A pencilled eyebrow arched up. "Really? Somehow I picture you as quite the party beast." She smiled. It was mischievous if not downright naughty, but most of all it was real. It also made the corners of her eyes crinkle in a very nice way.
I laughed. "Used to be."
"Not anymore?"
"I had an accident, few months ago. Have to take things easier than I did. But..." I smiled back at her. "... I'm starting to enjoy myself again."
"Glad to hear it."
"Need a refill, Ben?"
"Um no, thanks, Sally." I still had half a cup. Besides, any more and I'd be running back and forth to the toilet, which I didn't fancy. Unlike the lady in black. "Would you like -?"
"Oh, just a coffee, please. Black, no sugar."
Sally's mouth twitched at the corner, but she nodded, smiled and said: "Coming up."
"Something I said?" the woman asked, after Sally had gone.
I laughed. "No. She likes to save me the hassle because I'm not that mobile. But that's just for me, not every other punter in the place."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. My fault, not yours."
Sally brought the coffee over, gave me a mock glare and winked. You're forgiven, but don't do it again. I smiled and watched her go.
"I think she likes you."
"I'm old enough to be her dad."
"Funnily enough, I don't imagine that stopping you. For long."
"Ouch."
"Ben, did she say?"
"Yeah, that's right. You're -?"
"Ellen." She extended a hand.
"Pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise."
She sipped her coffee. I toyed with my cup. "Have you been up Panorama yet?"
"Where?"
"That's a no, then."
"I've only just got here." She took another sip, looked over the cup's rim. "But if you know of any good spots and don't mind showing me..."
Her eyes were very wide, very dark, and very inviting. A part of me wanted to make excuses. Run and hide. Too good to be true. Had to be some kind of a stitch-up. But I wanted to believe her.
"I'd love to," I said, and that sealed my fate. But of course it had been sealed long before then. "I can't take you there, though."
"Why not?"
And so I told her. Explained about the bends, how I couldn't travel to high altitudes.
She touched my hand. "Will you come some of the way with me? As far as you can? It would be nice to have the company."
What else could I say to that, but yes?
From the top of Panorama, which lies at the edge of Dinas Oleu, right above the Mawddach Estuary, we could see the hills rolling inland to our left, the grey ribbon of the estuary winding through the sandbanks, wormed with narrow creeks, on each side. Turning right, beyond the railway bridge the estuary opened out into Barmouth Bay and, beyond that, into the Cardigan Bay and Irish Sea. In the distance was the Lleyn Peninsula, the long arm of land reaching from the top of Wales, and the mist-shrouded contours of Anglesey.
We stood in silence. I'd seen the view before, but I was seeing it with Ellen now, through her first-timer's eyes. And of course, I'd never expected to see it again myself.
Teeth gritted, I'd started climbing the long, steep road up the side of Panorama with her, expecting the agony to explode in my arms and legs any second, doubling me up and humiliating me. And once it did stab me; I'd gasped, but she'd reached out a hand to steady me and... and the pain had ebbed away. She'd looked at me and smiled. "OK?"
"Yeah." And I was.
"Want to go back?"
"No. Not yet."
We'd gone higher than I'd ever expected to, past streamlets trickling down rockfaces into little drainage ditches, coming off the mountain road and walking past the farmhouse that lay before the woodlands around the summit. Fallen leaves, rust-red, rustled in the light breeze. Stones thick with moss. All of this, and the landscape glimpsed in snatches through the trees, soon to be seen in full. The anticipation of seeing it again. Then out into the open air; restraining myself from looking around because I wanted to wait now till I reached the summit, determined to get there even if the pain, long deferred, exploded full-force. The last dozen yards were very steep, but I'd managed it, hardly even limping.
"It's so beautiful," she said at last; her voice hitched as she said it.
"Ellen?" A tear trickled down her left cheek. As I watched, another ran down her right. "Jesus, Ellen, are you alright?"
"Yes. Yes. I'm fine. No, really Ben. It's OK. It's OK. Really." She smiled, wiping her eyes. "It's just so beautiful."
"You've never been to Wales before?"
She shook her head and looked inland across the mountains. "I've never seen this land before."
A funny way of putting it, but I liked it. For a second I'd thought she'd said I've never seen land before. My imagination. It wasn't always reliable. I'd have to tell her that, if I saw her again. I knew I wanted to.
But not right now. Not just yet.
Ellen put her hand to her mouth and sniffed hard. Then again. And a long, sobbing breath out.
I put a hand on her arm, without thinking. She took her hand from her mouth, dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Silly," she said, looking down, not meeting my gaze.
I touched her chin, tilting her face up. "It's OK," I said. "It's OK." My voice shook a little; I could've cried myself. Maybe out of gratitude. Maybe it was just her company, or maybe she had some kind of healing touch - the kind of crap claimed by the kind of people I'd avoided as peddlers of false hope, exploiters of the gullible, determined to try and accept my fate with some kind of dignity rather than chase pointlessly after non-existent miracle cures. I didn't know or care; something had happened I'd thought never would again. I'd climbed a mountain. And for whatever reason, it was because of her. For that alone, I could have loved her forever, right then.
That moment. When the eyes lock. When you know, you just know, it's just a kiss away. And the kiss is coming, due within heartbeats.
I touched my mouth to hers. Soft, yielding. Then the touch of her tongue in my mouth, her tongue on mine. That first kiss. Like so much else, it'd become so common I'd stopped appreciating it. And like so much else, I was finding it fresh and new, with her, with Ellen...
... what was her second name?
No matter. There was time for all that. However long she was staying for.
Where was she going back to? She hadn't said. It didn't matter. It could be the grimmest place on earth, and I knew if she wanted, if she'd let me, I'd follow her there.
Christ, Stiles, is this love at long last?
A faint taste of salt in my mouth, in hers. The tears, perhaps. Finally she broke free, a gasp of breath, her hands on my chest, pushing me back. "Enough."
"Shit - Ellen, I'm sorry."
"No. It's OK. I just..." She touched my cheek, eyes crinkling with that smile of hers again. "You're very sweet."
"Sweet?" Christ. Kiss of death, a woman calling you that.
"Sweet," she said, and kissed my lips again, the merest brush. "We have time, don't we? Ben?"
"Yeah." I was smiling too, the biggest and stupidest of my adult life. "Much as you need."
"Good." She still smiled; the most amazing smile in the world. I wanted to see it every day for the rest of my life.
Shit, Stiles, this is love and all.
"So," she said. "Where now?"
We wandered some more over the hills, then down to the old slate quarry and the harbour, which nestles in the crook of the coast road. I kept expecting the pain to kick in, but it never did. Perhaps it was a once-only miracle, and if I tried this again I'd be in agony. Thinking that sharpened my senses; I don't think I'd ever been so aware of what's around me before. After a while I stopped worrying and lost myself in the moments.
We walked back to the Quay and up the High Street for a drink in the Tal-Y-Don. I don't remember what we talked about. Everything and nothing. All that young lover's stuff, except neither of us were that young anymore. Not old either, but I'd always thought myself long past being smitten like that, if I'd ever been capable of it to begin with.
We had dinner at the Last Inn, a restaurant just off the quay. I had baked seabass, Ellen steak and chips. Afterwards, as the night fell, I walked her home along the sea front, arm in arm.
"Won't your friends be worried about you?" I asked.
She shook her head. "They know I like to go off on my own."
The sky had cleared; there were few clouds and the full moon hung low over the sea, laying a silvery path from horizon to beach. A lover's moon, I thought, and said so.
"You old romantic."
We stood and looked out for a while. Then she turned to face me, taking a deep breath. Shit. Here it came. The bad news. She had a boyfriend, or a husband.
She looked up at me - those big dark eyes - and said: "Ben, I want to sleep with you."
The air left my lungs. Panic. What if she wanted to come back to mine? Despite my clear-out that morning, the place was still in no fit state to receive a guest.
"But not tonight."
I was half-relieved, half-disappointed. But, as she'd said, we had time.
"I don't want to move too fast," she said. "I want it to be right. Does that... make sense?"
"Yes." And it did.
"Good." She touched my face. "Ben..." She laughed. "I've just realised, I don't even know your surname."
"Stiles. What about you?"
The moon lit her face as she smiled. "Vannin."
"Unusual name. Beautiful, but unusual. Where's it from?"
Her eyes crinkled again. "That's for me to know..."
A last, deep kiss and she stepped away. "I'll say goodnight now. It's too perfect. Only be an anticlimax otherwise. Meet you tomorrow?"
"Sure. When? Where?" I was like a lovesick schoolboy all of a sudden. Addicted. I was addicted to her.
"The Locker? About eleven o'clock?"
"Sure."
"Goodnight, Ben Stiles."
"Goodnight, Ellen Vannin."
I watched her walking away. She looked back once, blew me a kiss, and then disappeared up one of the sidestreets. There were plenty of hotels along the seafront, but she wasn't at any of them. Another mystery to be solved. The click of her heels on the pavement faded.
Ellen Vannin. The name tripped off my tongue. It sounded familiar. From somewhere. God knew where. As long as she wasn't a convicted axe-murderer.
I laughed at myself and turned to go.
They stood in the surf.
There was a long line of them. A dozen, maybe twenty. As before they were silhouetted, but the light gleamed through them, in places. Through gaps that shouldn't have been in a living person's body.
Cold green light glittered where their eyes should have been.
The one in the centre extended a hand and beckoned. One by one, as I stumbled away, along the deserted seafront, the others beckoned too.
A cloud slid across the moon as I ran; the pavement darkened. When I looked back, it had passed, and the moon shone again on an empty sea.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next fortnight was the happiest of my adult life. I dismissed the figures in the surf as another hallucination. I didn't dare tell Ellen. I trusted her - I thought I did. No, I knew. This was love. Total. All-consuming. I would die for her if I had to. I didn't think I could drive her away. But I didn't want to - couldn't - take that risk.
If you've ever been in love like that - and I pray you haven't because it can only lead to pain - then you'll understand.
There were no further hallucinations, anyway; no voices in my ear or figures in the waves. And so the only shadow that'd lain on me lifted, and the days and nights passed with Ellen Vannin. We walked the hills together, ate and drank together. And, yes, we slept together.
The first time, I was afraid my body would disgust her. I was scrawny and pale, arms and legs like pipe-cleaners. Even on my good days, I moved stiffly, and had the face of a man twenty years older.
Well, she'd seen my face and she knew my story. But even so, I worried.
The first night we slept together, she insisted on undressing me, peeling off my shirt, pulling off my boots, stripping me naked. As she did, she kissed my body - my nipples and stomach, my knees and thighs, even the insteps of my feet - before pressing me back on the bed, bending over and pressing her lips down on mine.
"Beautiful," she whispered.
I reached up to touch her breasts but she grinned and slapped my hands away, running her tongue over her top lip. "Naughty."
She kissed me deeply, and then worked her way down over my chest and stomach to my cock, kissing it gently, running her tongue up and around it. When she took me in her mouth, I cried out, grabbing fistfuls of bedclothes. "Stop. Stop." But it was too late. The orgasm was so intense it damn near hurt.
I sagged back with a moan. There was silence. Shit. I'd ruined it. Gone off like that. In her mouth as well; women didn't like that. I tried to mumble an apology, but she was laughing, wiping her lips.
"Well," she said. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment."
She stood up and released her long black hair; it fell around her shoulders. "Now," she said, "you've got no excuse. I expect you to last this time."
Her dress fell around her ankles, slithering down the pale slopes of her body smooth as water. She was naked, except for her black shoes. She kept them on throughout. "Touch me," she whispered, and guided my hand between her legs. She was already open and wet to the touch. With her free hand she drew my head to her breasts, and I took a nipple in my mouth as she stroked my hair.
My health, as if in response, was the best it had been since the accident. I reduced my DHC dosage, even skipped it once and suffered no ill-effects. That was only a one-off, though; on the whole, I still needed to take the medication, but less than before. I had no doubt it was down to Ellen in some way. How or why, I didn't know and I didn't care. I just wanted it to last.
We didn't talk about her friends. Throughout that fortnight, I never met them, not till the very end. They were just a vague reason that Ellen was here in Barmouth. A plot device. Nothing more.
We didn't talk about the future. I was afraid of finding out that it was all just a fling for her, a holiday romance, to be consigned to a shoebox full of memories, of things that once were but no more. I didn't want to know I'd be just another faded snapshot - do you remember that time in Barmouth, in the autumn of...
