Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IAIN
Practise at the rugby club ran late, which meant that when Iain shoved open the door to his house, Ted was dancing around, bursting to be let out. He was well due his walk by now, and since their courtyard back garden consisted of approximately three-square feet of concrete space, probably the toilet, too.
“Hello, hello, yes— I know I’m late.” Iain dumped the bag full of his dirt-stained training gear at the bottom of his stairs while his maniacal dog circled between his feet.
If there was one good thing in his day, it was coming home to Ted’s lean body wiggling with excitement, his toys from their basket scattered all around the sofa and coffee table. Across the room in the kitchenette, the twin bowls of food and water Iain filled between rushing in from work and rushing out again to the rugby club were empty.
The outside of his tiny house might look lifeless and run-down, but the previous owners had decorated the interior to within an inch of its life. Cream walls. Cream rugs. Cream shelving on either side of the cream fireplace. They’d done such a good job in crafting the space that Iain didn’t see a point in redecorating to look more ‘manly’. The muted olive of his furniture was calming, which is exactly what he needed after a mind-numbing day.
Still wearing the jeans and chequered jacket he’d walked in with, he took Ted’s collar and lead from the coat rack inside the under-stairs cupboard.
“You ready to go?”
Ted spun his way towards the front door.
“Of course you are.”
He managed to wrap Ted’s neon-orange collar into place with relative stillness from the mutt, but all hell broke loose when the clicking of the clasp awoke the impatience in him. Iain needed the bathroom himself but the extra two minutes of delay might not be good for his hardwood floor. He barely cracked the front door open before Ted bolted out of it.
A dull ache in his shoulder was already sore from taking Cai’s hard tackle in practice, and his arm being yanked on the end of Ted’s lead didn’t help.
“Ted— wait —would you stop?” He fumbled with his keys to lock his front door behind them.
With Ted scrambling on the paving stones for the nearest drainpipe, Iain’s hands were too full to grab the phone that started to ring in his pocket with much dexterity. He smashed his thumb against the green button on the screen without looking at the ID.
“Hello?”
“Iain.”
His motions slammed to a halt.
Iain flipped into Welsh like an automatic reaction at hearing that voice. “I’m busy.”
The man on the other end did the same. “Too busy for your father?”
“You were too busy to listen to me for twenty-six years, so yes,” he said as he shoved his keys into his pocket and began to walk.
The phone crackled with the patchy reception that was common up in the mountains. “That isn’t fair, Iain.”
“It is. And I could say a lot worse than I do.”
Ted dragged him along the path by the other houses in this terraced row, nose to the concrete slabs. The sky was darker than dark, full of shifting grey clouds that gave no room to starlight. Only glimpses of the moon and muscle memory guided them to the end of their street.
“I’m busy,” Iain said again, his patience on its last thread on reflex. “Why did you call?”
“You never call any of us.” Alun Howell, the man who claimed to be his father, said, “How are we supposed to know if you are alive?”
Acid bubbled up in Iain’s throat – because for thirty-five years his father hadn’t ever really been a father at all. He’d strived so hard to please that man every day that he was raised on their farm, but no work that he did was ever good enough. His older brothers were always faster, smarter, better than him. The tongue like a knife that he heard through the phone hadn’t ever been slow to let him know that.
“I text Rhys and Lewis,” he replied, hoping Alun might get the point of who exactly he didn’t want contact with.
“Your brothers don’t mention it.”
Why wasn’t Iain surprised? “Probably because they know I don’t want you to hear about my life,” he rebuffed, turning a corner with Ted in tow that’d lead them into town.
Alun let out a low growl. “Is that really the hill you want to die on? I’m getting old, son.”
“I don’t want to hear it. You have two sons to bend to whatever will it is that you want. You don’t need me, so stop calling.”
“Listen here, son?—”
Iain cancelled the call and realised how violently his hand shook as he squeezed the phone like it was malleable. There was something infuriating about how it wouldn’t give out – how the rectangle of metal and glass fought back against him.
“Fuck.” He shoved the phone into his coat pocket and wrapped his fist around Ted’s lead.
Why couldn’t he just be left alone? For two years he’d heard nothing from his father, and now all of a sudden he received calls every other week. Whatever Alun wanted, he could jog on. If it was something important that might actually concern him then Rhys or Lewis would call him instead.
He didn’t need to be put down any more in his life, and unless his father had changed – highly unlikely – then there was no reversing how he’d been pushed away by his own blood just for wanting to go off and live a different life.
People say you should forgive and forget, but how many of those people had been made to feel like they were a hopeless case by their own father?
“Leaving here is a dead-end adventure for you, Iain.”
“You’ll come crawling back when you realise you made the wrong choice.”
He’d left that very same day.
There’d been no turning back. No crawling back to that farm. Even when he’d been living on a pitiful payslip to payslip for months, he hadn’t had a single thought of running back. Back then, he’d rather have eaten cheap instant noodles every night than give Alun a reason to gloat.
Which just left him here.
Alone.
A shattered heart.
Still desperate for something to change.
He hated it. He hated that this was his fault. That this rut he’d dug for himself with his job and his life was so damn stifling. There was no way forward and no way back. He had six weeks until he was fired, and no job lined up for when he found himself without one. Walking blind was terrifying, but he had no plan. He didn’t even know where to begin, or why – when he looked up along the darkened street –he found himself on Maisie’s road.
It wasn’t their usual route to walk at night and Ted didn’t know the way to Maisie’s flat to have guided him to it. Which meant that he must have led them here.
The road was deserted. A few stragglers wandered their way towards the pubs and bars. Somehow Iain’s feet kept on moving until he brought himself to outside her door. He coaxed Ted to stop on the opposite side of the road, no streetlights close enough to let him even see his own feet. That didn’t matter when his focus was somewhere much higher.
Her curtains were open, the television glowing and flicking from colour to colour. Maisie danced through her living room with a hairbrush in her hand like she was having her own personal concert, and the sight of her so carefree, red curls loose and bouncing, calmed the buzz in Iain’s brain that wouldn’t ebb.
It’d been a few days since their unexpected meeting in the café, and he hadn’t stopped replaying their entire conversation in his head. From the way she’d rightly chewed him up for running his mouth, to being on the verge of tears admitting she was worried about her nain .
There she was, her wide, bathrobe-covered hips swishing, and here he was under a black cloud of his own making, looking increasingly perverted to anyone who might be watching him.
Ted sat down in a bored huff, staring out to the stretch of pavement they still had left to walk.
If just a fragment of Maisie’s cheeriness could make him feel warmer, then was it so wrong to want it? He could call her. Her phone number was in the hikers’ group chat and so easy enough to get hold of. But what would he say? How would he explain that he’d turned up at her flat without knowing how or why?
You’ll look like a creep, that’s what you’ll look like.
Ted nudged his knee, and Iain exhaled slowly, turning away to continue along the shadows.
They barely knew each other; Maisie didn’t need his shit.
At least the sun shone two mornings later. It was a day requiring three different layers under his coat, but a bright one, nonetheless. Ted was twice as eager as he was to walk the side streets to the beachfront where the day’s tourists drove in early to grab parking spots. The pier that stretched out into the grey-blue horizon was directly ahead of them, peeking between buildings like looking through the peephole of a lock.
“Iain!”
Only one English girl would be calling his name at eight in the morning. Looking over his shoulder, Iain slowed his stride and felt the strain on Ted’s lead when he forgot to give him the memo.
Maisie checked behind her before crossing the street, still a little too far to not shout “Hi there!”
“ Su’mai. ” Iain couldn’t even make his ‘hello’ sound cheerful this morning, left in a hungover state of pissed-off-ness from two evenings before.
She caught up to his and Ted’s side, greeting his dog with a pat. “Do you live this way? I thought you’d be over near Nain for some reason.”
Iain pointed in the general direction of his house. “By there. Right and then left off of your road.
“Ohh.”
“You’re in a good mood,” he noted, taking stock of her fleece and coat and the fuzzy headband covering her ears. He didn’t suppose there were any warmer hats that could keep her red curls contained.
“I have a good feeling about today,” Maisie announced as she bounced with her stride. It was … damn it, it was cute. Iain was glad she was feeling much better than she had been at the café. “It’s finally February,” she added. “Flowers are starting to come up, and though the forecast is chilly, at least it’s a sunny day.”
Iain tried to let some of her enthusiasm flow into him, but it didn’t work. He’d spoken to his father two nights ago and he was still in a sour mood from it.
“You, however” — Maisie turned on him — “look like Ted stole your breakfast this morning.” His dog’s ears perked up. “More than usual, anyway,” she added.
“I’m grand,” he said, though it probably wasn’t convincing this time. In general, he’d gotten rather good at faking he was fine. Though he couldn’t force his voice to be anything perkier than what it was, or cultivate some other expression besides stern that he was sure by now he’d lost the ability to make.
Don’t concern her with your shit. They were friends now, as declared the last time they’d had a conversation, but to Iain that meant he was here for her. He could give Maisie all the time that she wanted but he couldn’t let her peek beneath his surface in return.
Her mouth did that disbelieving thing where it scrunched to one side, but she didn’t call him out.
The shoreline was unseasonably calm this morning. Iain filled his lungs with the refreshing salt in the air and washed-up sand as seagulls pecked along the beach. The sun began to rise behind the town, and a few locals chanced dipping their toes for a morning swim in the grey waters. He’d watched folk do it plenty of times on Ted’s morning walks, but he hadn’t ever liked the thought of joining in at this time of year.
They headed along the promenade towards the minibus parked midway along Marine Terrace – the colourful mismatch of Victorian and Georgian homes and hotels. Except there was no one else here. At least no one outside . None of their group were huddled by the minibus door like usual.
Maisie looked up at him right as Iain frowned down at her. “Are we late?”
“No,” he said, sounding as suspicious as Maisie appeared to see that the minibus was completely full ahead of schedule.
They skirted towards the open door from the rear, each window they passed containing two pairs of eyes peeking out at them.
None of this was normal. All the eyes were on them, and Iain felt like food on a waiter’s serving tray being brought out to ravished customers after too long a wait.
He gestured for Maisie to take the steps first.
“I don’t think I need you to catch me this time,” she said, throwing a smile over her shoulder.
“I’m here anyway.” She wouldn’t ever need to worry about if he’d be there to catch her or not. The answer was steadily becoming always yes.
Maisie paused for a second, not blinking as their gazes held, before climbing the steps. Iain didn’t have the capacity to decipher what that linger was for just yet. He followed her on up into the bus with Ted without giving another thought to it.
As usual, the air smelled like the upholstery hadn’t been deep cleaned since it was brand new, full of the musty scent of dust that made Iain glad he didn’t have any allergies. Ms Vera stood from her seat next to Ronnie to intercept Maisie with a hug. Iain didn’t entirely listen to their hushed exchange, because something was amiss with this arrangement.
As before, two seats were left spare in the middle of the bus.
Two seats next to one another.
All the pensioners looked far too knowing about the reason why, and as he waited for Maisie to shuffle across to the window seat, the answer clicked in Iain’s mind too.
The bus began to move off the second he was settled. He dropped his backpack between his feet and wedged Ted’s lead under his thigh so that his hands were free.
“Looks like we’re sitting together again,” Maisie noted, a hint of a wink-wink, nudge-nudge tone in her voice that Iain was sure was put on. He made a sound of agreement which came off as a grunt – his voice was too deep to do much else.
Sitting together again.
Sitting together like they had been at the café.
Sitting together like when he chauffeured Maisie’s belongings to help her move.
Sitting together like the first time she’d stepped on this bus.
Every single time they’d been in each other’s presence, at least one of these pensioners around them had been involved in some way.
Irene twisted in the row in front of theirs and pushed her lightly make-upped face between the gap in the seats. “What a lovely couple you’d both make.”
Iain’s brows shot up whilst Maisie—was she alright? She coughed like she hacked up a lung, and Iain realised she’d had her water bottle held to her lips. That water bottle. The solid metal thing that’d made his dick feel bruised for an hour. He couldn’t stop himself from scowling at it when he should be helping her.
“That’s um ... Yeah— No .” Maisie chuckled quietly to herself. “We’re friends.”
“ Diolch, Irene,? * ” he said pointedly, and the woman faced herself forwards again, her eyes the last thing to turn away from them both.
Iain shifted his gaze across the bus, and eyes snapped away too late for him to not have noticed their prying. It couldn’t be any more obvious that he and Maisie were, for some reason, the main act of whatever circus performance was going on around them.
With that comment from Irene, it wasn’t too hard to guess that the bus-full of elders considered themselves amateur matchmakers.
Maisie nudged him with her elbow. Her phone was in her hand with something written on a note-taking app.
This was definitely on purpose
With the way she urged the phone into his hands without him moving a muscle, Iain guessed that he was going to get sucked into a covert exchange whether he wanted to or not. He took the phone to respond, his giant thumbs tapping at the screen as he wrote underneath.
I figured.
They passed the phone back and forth between them.
You sound grumpy even in text form
It’s where my sunshine personality shines best.
It wasn’t the first mention of his sunshine personality. Iain let Maisie read the message without giving her the phone back, and her delicate huff was humour-filled. He got a twinge of satisfaction from her finding him funny.
She whined in protest when he moved the phone out of her reach.
“You sound like Ted,” Iain said aloud, typing his next note while Maisie exhaled like an angry little dragon, her fist shoving his thigh. His facial hair was thick enough to hide the two-second curl in his lips. He wrote:
Don’t change the topic. We have bigger problems!
Maisie typed as furiously as her next words came to be.
We need to talk!!!
Just what every man wants to hear.
Did you catch how I rolled my eyes? No? Let me do it again
Iain coughed to cover how he grinned.
She typed again.
When we get off the bus, we need to talk. I think I’ve figured out what’s going on!
What’s that then?
Iain handed back the phone and didn’t expect the fizzle up his arm when the back of his fingers slid against Maisie’s palm. She was too busy typing with nails that made tapping the screen look difficult to notice him internally panic at that feeling.
He couldn’t have feelings – not towards her – sexually or emotionally or otherwise. Certainly not after his body that he’d always trusted to do the right thing had carried him all the way unwittingly to her door when he’d been knocked unsteady by his father’s voice.
That was enough indication of a problem brewing as it was.
But of course, Maisie had to go and sit her phone down on his hyperaware thigh. Five of those peach polka-dotted nails poked him with their tips through his walking trousers.
He shifted his eyes to where his focus should actually be and read her response.
We’re being set up!
* ? Thank you, Irene