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Chapter Three

James

“Well, you’re looking handsome. I’ve been keeping up with you on that Facebook but you definitely look much healthier now in the flesh.

” My grandmother was pottering around the kitchen like I always remembered her doing.

I could swear the woman never changed, never aged.

But the walking stick in the corner told me she might be getting a little bit further advanced in years than she would ever admit.

She plonked a cup of tea onto the table in front of me.

“Now,” she said, “tell me why you’re here. You look hurt, and as much as it pains me to say I know you’re not just here to visit your old Nain.”

Slowly, in between sips of way-too-sweet tea, I told her everything.

The club, the aftermath. I told her how I’d been inspired to come here after seeing that Owen was working on a ‘Visit Wales’ campaign and how getting holiday approved with my boss — even just for a week — had been an absolute nightmare.

It was Monday now, and I had only managed to secure guaranteed time off until Friday.

“Well you stay for as long as you want,” my grandmother - Nain , as she insisted I still call her - said. “If I have to beat your boss in a boxing match to get you to stay here I will do it.”

I laughed quietly. “Thanks Nain.”

“Let me show you your room. I’ve kept it as you liked it, just in case you decided to pop round.

” I felt a bit guilty at her words. It was true that my parents had decided they no longer wanted to visit Hiraeth not long after they made the move to London, but there had been nothing to stop me coming here once I had turned eighteen.

“Sorry Nain,” I said.

“Don’t be silly, you had your own life, and it was always lovely to see you at Christmas. And Cardiff has a lovely market so I never begrudged going there.” I didn’t quite believe her words, and she didn’t look at me as she said them.

She led me down the hallway to my room. I knew it well, even after years of being away. Nain’s home, like her, had not significantly changed in that time.

This truth was compounded even more when she showed me the guest room.

There was a single bed pushed up against the wall, the bedding covered in space ships and stars.

The ceiling was covered in glow-in-the-dark stars and moons, and the curtains were black — I seemed to remember poking holes in them with a pin when I was little to make it look like starlight shining through in the daytime.

“Wow, Nain. You didn’t want to redecorate?” I said.

“No, love. I wanted to remember.” Nain gave me a little smile. “Did you say you don’t have any extra clothes with you at all?”

I showed her the little backpack I’d hardly let go of since I got to Hiraeth. “I’ve got a toothbrush and some underwear I borrowed from Owen in here. The rest of his clothes wouldn’t fit me and he couldn’t exactly afford to buy me a new wardrobe.”

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” Nain said. “Pop your bag down on the bed and come with me. We’ll get you clothed.”

“There’s nowhere to shop for miles around, is there?” I asked.

“You’d be surprised, bach. ”

◆◆◆

I was surprised when Nain frogmarched me through the village with the odd hello to a couple of people I very vaguely recognised and into a little charity shop on the high street.

“Are you sure?” I muttered as we walked in. “I’m not exactly one for charity shopping.”

“Your father has given you airs and graces,” she said firmly. “It may not be Armani, or fancy suits for dinner, but I will have you clothed nicely for the days we’re here. Let’s have a look.”

Nain took my arm and pulled me over to the men’s section - just a couple of rails and a shelf with some old trainers on.

She was right, it was Dad who had always insisted I wear nice clothes.

Even clubbing I wore a jacket and shirt even as other people were starting to wear hoodies and trainers.

It just always felt right to wear nice clothes.

But Mum and Dad had moved abroad a couple of years ago and I still couldn’t bring myself to relax in slacks when walking around the city.

“Ooh, this is nice. Lovely and warm.” Nain held up a cable-knit burgundy jumper to me, and without asking if I liked it threw it over her arm. She did the same with a couple of shirts and some jeans.

“You really don’t have to do this, Nain. I’m only here for a couple of days.”

“Nonsense. I’m not having you lounging around the house in my old dressing gown whilst you wait for me to wash the clothes off your back. Try these on.” She held out a pair of hiking boots and a pair of trainers. “These will do.”

“I’m only here for three more days…” I muttered.

“Well if you discover a new love of country walks when you’re here, maybe you’ll come back,” she said.

The guilt at not seeing her for so long shut me up, and I tried the shoes on after a careful sniff.

They were comfortable and fit fine, so I took them off.

Nain gestured for me to follow her to the till.

A few jumpers I’d hardly looked at, the jeans and the trainers all came to less than ten pounds.

Nain handed over the cash and smiled at the woman behind the till.

“You’re certainly looking well, Sally.” Something in her tone was different though, like she wasn’t just being friendly.

“Have you seen at the bakery they’ve got a new special on buns?

Do you ever head over on your lunch break? ”

“Oh, no. I always bring a packed lunch,” said the woman, presumably Sally.

“I see. Well, have a lovely day!” Nain pushed the carrier bag with all my new stuff into my hand and sauntered out of the shop like a woman half her age. I muttered a thanks to Sally and followed her.

Outside the shop Nain linked her arm into mine and gestured the opposite way from where we’d came. “Do you fancy a walk down the river?”

“Sure,” I said. There were plenty of people on High Street, but most of the shops were closed, or even boarded up. In a row of about ten shopfronts I counted four open — the charity shop at the end, a bakery, butchers and one at the other end I couldn’t make out yet.

Nain walked slower than I expected. “Why didn’t you bring your stick?” I enquired.

“Oh, that? The doctor recommended it. I told him to piss off, I’ve never needed help walking and I’m not about to start.” Her tone told me there was no point pushing the argument. “Oh look, there’s Llywelyn!” she pointed towards the end shop, and I tried my best not to stop and stare.

The second I had seen him at the train station, I had flinched away - at first because he reminded me of the bigger man who had been a part of my mugging.

But then he smiled and it reached lovely blue eyes.

I melted just a little bit inside then. And when he spoke with a low and steady voice with an accent that made me think of home I felt safe.

In the van, he had interest in me and I thought I caught him looking at me once or twice, which was likely my own wishful thinking.

He was stood on a ladder and reaching up to a sign above the last shop, screwing in a lightbulb.

He wore a beanie hat and a chequered blue shirt.

His face was pale with dark brows and a brown beard.

In the van I’d noticed it was speckled with little orange flecks.

My eyes roamed down his body almost involuntarily.

Where he was stood and stretching upwards he had exposed a strip of skin between his jeans and shirt, and as we walked even closer I could see a dark happy trail.

It was all I could do not to lick my lips.

Somehow, I’d ended up lusting after the sexiest man in Hiraeth.

“Hey, Llywelyn!” Nain shouted far too loudly as we approached. I winced. Llywelyn looked over and stepped down and off the ladder. My moment of perversion had been curtailed.

“Hello, Glynis. Hi James.” Llywelyn dusted off his hands on his jeans. “Out shopping?”

“Yes, we bought James a whole new set of clothes. He’ll look very dashing.”

I could feel my cheeks warming with embarrassment like I was 12 again. Did I imagine Llywelyn looking me up and down? His eyes seemed to linger on me, and his mouth curved upward at the edges. He looked away, back into the shop. “Try now, Gwyn!” he shouted through the door.

The sign lit up, and Llywelyn smiled wider. “That seems to have worked.”

I tore my eyes away from him to look at the sign, and into the shop for the first time.

My eyes must have been like saucers as I took in what I saw.

The shop inside was chaotic but kitsch, with all manner of crafting supplies.

A pale, red-headed man of about 50 — Gwyn, I presumed — was stood grinning inside.

The sign above the shop, now lit up in all its glory, read G&G Craft Supplies.

“Want to go in and have a look?” Nain asked.

I was already walking towards the door and into the shop.

The walls were panelled in light wood, but mostly covered up by the merchandise.

In the window were baskets with skeins of colourful and soft wool, which I idly touched.

Along the leftmost wall were rolls of patterned and strange fabrics, and along the right were paper crafting supplies and card in every colour.

“Creative soul, are you?” Gwyn approached me with a hand outstretched.

“You could say that,” I replied. “But it’s been a long time.” I shook his hand.

“This is James, my grandson,” Nain interrupted, almost getting in between us. “James, meet Gwyn. He and his husband moved to the village last year, they’ve been doing very well for themselves with this little shop.”

“Husband?” I asked automatically, then winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound…I mean…”