Page 23

As if hearing my thoughts and determined to confirm them, he stood up, swaying a little as he took steps towards me.

I noticed the screwdriver in his hand and took an automatic step backward, out of the welcoming light of the garage.

Back out into the lightly falling snow which had settled in a thin sheet on the ground.

Macsen’s eyes locked on mine, then looked down at the screwdriver. “Oh,” he muttered before dropping it to the floor. “Sorry. Just wanted…to talk.”

“About what, Macsen? You’re…” scaring me, my mind supplied. But that sounded pathetic. “Confusing me. You’re really confusing me here.”

“You,” Macsen pointed as he took another few steps closer, coming almost to reaching distance before he stopped, “are a lying fucking bastard, you know that? I trusted you, I let you stay, and this whole time you’ve been lying to me.

You weren’t waiting for that bastard to give you your money back.

You were waiting for me to hand it over to you in exchange for… all this.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was dumbstruck. Macsen’s words were cruel, but they weren’t entirely untrue either. I’d lied to him, held his rent over his head as a bargaining tool, and as we had gotten closer and closer I’d kept up the lie.

And here were my consequences of my actions, all 6 foot of them and gorgeous, glaring at me with venom that hadn’t been apparent for well over a week now.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. Lamely. Stupidly.

“Sorry won’t really fucking cut it, will it?” said Macsen with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes at all.

“If it makes any difference, I changed my mind. I don’t want to sell if you don’t want it. You can just…”

“Just what? Lick your boots every time you come round in the hope you don’t change your mind when you need the money again? Don’t you see, there’s no scenario where you don’t hold all the power over me, and that sucks. Because I was really starting to fucking like you.”

I felt a lump rise in my throat. I was not going to cry. “I really like you too.”

“Well you fucked it up, didn’t you. Go on. Leave. I might put your car together again if you stay away for long enough.”

“Why are you like this?” I asked. I’d meant to ask him why he was being like that in the moment, but it came out all twisted and wrong.

“Like you can’t take some of the blame,” he spat back. He swayed slightly on the spot and even with the anger and bile I still wanted to walk forward and take him in my arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“All of this. My whole life, feeling like less than I am. You, talking me down to my mother behind my back. Making her think less of me.”

I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me. Even on this chilly night, the garage seemed to drop about twenty degrees. Had he heard me the day he’d run? Is that why he’d run? My stupid attitude hadn’t just ruined mine and Gruff’s friendship, but led to Macsen feeling inferior. Even unloved.

It felt like my feet were glued to the ground and I couldn’t take a step backward even if I tried.

I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to sort things out, to talk things through with the man I’d really come to appreciate as…

something. But the look in his eyes broached no argument, and I couldn’t stand here in the snow forever, much as I might want to.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” I said. “I will make this better.”

“Sure,” Macsen said before turning away and walking back towards the rear of the garage. The urge to run in after him was overwhelming but if he didn’t want me there then I couldn’t force his company.

I forced myself to turn away from the garage and walk away, finally letting the first couple of tears drop from my eyes. Before I could lose my composure completely, I took out my phone and dialled Uncle Prentis.

“Hey,” I said. “I could really need your help. And a sofa to stay on.”

◆◆◆

December 14 th

The snow fell down in thick flakes across the windows, and I pulled my blanket up against my chin. It was at least a foot in depth outside, and the roads into Hiraeth would be completely impassable by car or on foot. Fuck this, I thought, and rolled over to block out the world.

◆◆◆

December 15 th

It was still snowing. Uncle Prentis, Beca and I sat around the table and played cards all day.

Even the phone signal was out, and some of the village was without power.

I thought about Macsen, and hoped he was doing OK.

I probably survived on about twelve cups of tea a day, as Prentis hadn’t bought coffee since Uncle Llyw died.

We looked through the old photographs of him and Uncle Llyw then, going all the way back to the 1970s.

We laughed ourselves hoarse at how uncomfortable Uncle Llyw looked in pictures out on Cardiff’s gay scene and both of us cried at some of the more tender, private pictures they had of themselves.

Some of the photos were torn and faded. Some had splashes on them, like they’d been cried on more than once. And I started to have an idea.

◆◆◆

December 16 th

Thinking of Macsen was fucking unbearable all the time, but at the least the snow was starting to lighten up.

There was little sign of a melt though, and there were only so many fucking card games we could play.

We talked - about the weather; “ bloody snow ” - about Beca’s house; “ almost done ” - about politics and about the latest films on Netflix.

One thing I made sure we didn’t talk about was me.

The biggest problem with being so constantly preoccupied with the grumpy bastard who lived in the garage was his absence.

And how natural we’d started to be around one another.

I knew he wouldn’t be starving to death because I’d done a weekly food shop a few days before.

I knew he’d have plenty of clothes because I’d washed them and he’d dried and folded them as we talked about the next big shooter game coming out for the PlayStation.

◆◆◆

December 17 th

“Find me a bloody shovel,” I said to Uncle Prentis.

I couldn’t be here much longer. I spent the day pushing at the snow on his driveway.

After hours of work, I surveyed the lie of the land.

I might’ve cleared the driveway successfully, but unless I could somehow shovel out the mile of country lanes leading to the garage, I didn’t have a hope in hell.

“Cuppa?” asked Prentis from the doorway.

I looked back with a resigned smile and threw the shovel to the ground. “Sure thing.”

***

December 18 th

Finally, the snow seemed like it was beginning to melt, and I’d had time to think on things. And what I needed to to do make things right. But I had to talk it through with someone first. Someone who’d always been there for me.

◆◆◆

December 19 th

I trudged my way through the mixture of slow and slush that lay on the ground, mixed in with the mud and grass and not half as pristine it had looked just a couple of days before. I had a bouquet of yellow roses in my hand, just like he liked. Had liked.

I knelt down by Uncle Llyw’s grave, just one of many in Hiraeth’s church cemetery and unremarkable from the rest.

“Hey, Llyw.” I laid down the flowers on the grave and brushed some snow and ice from the lettering. Llywelyn Prentis-Jones. Hard worker, rugby coach, adored by all.

I snorted despite myself. It said a lot that my uncle would be bloody thrilled that his epitaph was so basic.

Hard worker . He was, and had always instilled in me the value of hard work.

And Uncle Prentis had instilled in me the value of finding joy in life.

They had been quite the team, raising me once my mother had died. Never once faltering.

“How’s things with you up there?” I asked him, despite never having believed in any of it myself.

It was much more comforting to imagine he was looking down on me.

“I’ve fucked things up down here, I know that much.

Met a nice…well, grumpy guy. Grumpy but good, y’know.

Well. Of course you would. Fucked that up with him.

Worry that I might be fucking this whole town up by trying to get out of it. But I have a plan…”

I explained to him – to the stone – what I was planning to do.

The plan was a little bit insane, would leave me with very little to get on with.

But I hoped that the village would give and help as it always had.

Once I was done, I stared at the gravestone as if it might talk. Like he might say something.

“I think that sounds like a bloody fantastic idea,” said a voice from behind me. Uncle Prentis. I turned my head to the side and he joined me in a crouch at the graveside. “You sure you want to do it?” he asked.

“I’m sure.”

“You won’t be able to get back to London any time soon on that plan.”

“I know, Uncle Prentis. But I’ve been running for way too long now.” I smiled at him even as I tried to stop tears leaking from my eyes. I got to my feet and reached out a hand to pull him up.

“Why were you running?” Prentis asked. “We were so proud of you when you got such good grades to get into a good university, and then your big job in London, and then you hardly ever came back. I always wondered…if it was something we’d done wrong.

Us two old queer men trying to raise a stroppy teenager together. ”

“Too many old memories,” I admitted. “Mum died just as I was hitting high school, then not so long after I finished university and got that job Uncle Llywelyn went too. I couldn’t face this old place anymore.”

“Now?” Uncle Prentis asked.

I just smiled. I had been to hell and back, and was about to put myself through hell again. I could do anything.