Chapter Five

James

“So,” the lady who had introduced herself to me as Mrs Angela Hayward said, “we understand that you’re from an English-language agency and that’s fine, just understand that we are a bilingual school and you will hear the odd bit of Welsh throughout the day. Is that OK?”

Before I could respond she continued, walking me through the school corridor to a room from which I could hear lots of talking and laughter.

Mrs Hayward continued talking, not letting me get a single word in edgeways; “You’ll get along with all the staff, they’re lovely - just such a shame you’re only here for the day - ooh where did you get this jumper?

So chic! Bit light for your subject though, surely? Don’t want to get any paint on that.”

She opened the door and we were in the staff room.

The conversation died down as we entered.

“Hello, everyone. This is Tom Brown, and he’ll be covering art classes across the year-groups today so please give him a lovely welcome.

Mrs Ifans, I think he’ll be with your class first so if you’d like to show him where to go. Thank you.”

She clip-clopped down the hallway to go elsewhere and a young, nervous looking lady approached me. She had blonde hair tied loosely in a bun and wore a cream cardigan and blouse. “Hello,” she said quietly. “You must be-“

“There’s been a mistake!” I heard Mrs Hayward shout, her voice rising through an octave as she said it, like there had been a murder.

Every head in the room snapped to the doorway.

Mrs Hayward was stood in front of Llywelyn, who had his hand on the shoulder of a bespectacled man about my age, if not a little bit older.

He was skinny, his glasses big and round like Harry Potter.

He had mousy brown hair and wore a tweed suit and bow tie.

“Tom Brown,” he said quietly. “Nice to meet you all.” He looked more prim and proper than any art teacher I had ever met.

“Can I have my assistant back now, Mrs Hayward?” Llywelyn asked.

“Assistant? Why, yes, of course.” Angela Hayward turned cold eyes on me. “Go on then.” She jerked her head back towards Llywelyn with an expression that said I was vermin. As if it were my deception rather than her mistake which had led to this.

I meekly followed Llywelyn from the room , muttering goodbyes to a couple of the teachers on the way. None of them seemed to know quite how to look at me.

Llywelyn was silent as we met in the hallway, and the staff room door closed behind us. He turned away from me, and I wondered if he was angry with me for the mix up, for him having to come and rescue me. But then I saw his shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“You bastard!” I punched his arm lightly and he turned to look at me with tears of mirth in his eyes.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he chuckled. “And you just went along with it!”

“I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.”

“That does sound like Angela.” Llywelyn said. “I’d have rescued you sooner if Tom hadn’t turned up at the same time you were dragged to your doom. I had to show him to the staff room myself then. I thought you’d hold your own until we got there.”

“Well I almost ended up teaching Year 1 art, no thanks to your speedy intervention.” It was difficult to stay annoyed at Llywelyn. He was laughing, not maliciously but out of genuine joy.

“You could have held your own,” he said. “I saw you in that craft shop the other day, looking at the walls like they were made of gold. I bet you know your way around art stuff backwards.”

“Well, that’s not the point,” I said quietly. I was mollified by his compliment, as well as the fact he had been watching me so closely. “Not so good with DIY though, so not sure I’ll be much use as your assistant in this case.”

“I’m sure I can find something…” Llywelyn smiled. “You know you’re not actually my assistant, it was just the easiest way to get you out of there. You can go home if you like.”

“Oh, did you want me to leave?” I asked.

“God no. I could use the company, I’m just trying to say-“

“Then I’ll stay.” I smiled up at him. Llywelyn scratched his beard idly for a second like he had lost his train of thought. “Right, yes. Fixing up the stage. Come along?”

Llywelyn led me down the corridor to the school hall.

It reminded me of my own primary school, before my parents had earned enough money to send me private.

The floor was worn wood and the walls painted magnolia.

Around the walls, just above head height there were words painted in Welsh that I couldn’t understand.

At the end of the room there was a little wooden stage which Llywelyn had climbed up onto.

I joined him, and sat with my legs dangling over the edge.

He was testing each beam of wood with his feet and when one creaked extra loud he grinned at me.

His smiles were impossible not to return, and I found myself smiling back.

Llywelyn took a hammer and a box full of nails from his toolbag and started hammering at the offending plank until it was no longer creaking. “Just loose, easy job,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or himself.

“I’ve been called worse,” I replied without thinking. He looked at me with wide eyes and blushed. “Sorry, automatic response.”

“N-no, it’s fine.” Llywelyn looked down and banged a nail with the hammer that I was sure had already been nailed in.

We sat in silence for a few seconds, until I found a way to get the conversation going again. “What’s written on the walls? School motto or something?”

“Would be a very long motto,” he said. “It’s the story of Dwynwen, Welsh patron saint of love. Like our St Valentine, I guess.”

“I see,” I said. “Why?”

“Because they say she blessed a spring somewhere in Hiraeth or near here. She was very unlucky in love, and wanted anyone who drank from the spring not to have the same fate.” Llywelyn scooted over and sat next to me on the edge of the stage.

“ Hiraeth . They say it has no direct English translation, but that’s not true.

It means longing, pining for a lost love or longing for home.

This village is said to be longing for love, just like Dwynwen. ”

I sat quiet for a second, well aware of how close we were. “And where is the-“ The pealing of my own phone cut me off, the shrill polyphonic ringtone like something out of the early 2000s. I flipped it open. No Caller ID. “Is there somewhere I can take this?” I asked Llywelyn.

“PE supply cupboard.” Llywelyn nodded at a door in the corner of the room. “The lights don’t work though, so be careful.”

I nodded and brought the phone to my ear as I walked towards the storage cupboard. When I opened the door, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a pommel horse and some gymnastics mats on the floor. When the door closed, I was plunged into darkness.

“Hello?” I spoke into the phone.

“Ah, hello. This is Detective Butt.” I tried not to giggle again at the name but I had to pull the phone away from my mouth in case he heard me.

“Do you have any updates?” I asked. I paced small circles in the little space to make sure I didn’t knock anything over.

“Yes, only that they attempted to get back into your flat. We only know this because they tripped an alarm, but by the time an officer had gotten there they were gone.”

My blood ran cold. So they weren’t done with me. Weren’t content with robbing me and leaving me for dead. They wanted more.

“Are you still there?” PC Butt asked.

“Yes, sorry. Yes. I’m here. It’s just-”

“I understand, Mr Evans. Are you happy to stay put where you are for now?” PC Butt sounded professional but I thought I detected a note of genuine concern under it all.

“Yes, I can stay here another few days before I get back to work.”

“Thank you. We’ll keep you updated.” PC Butt hung up, and I flipped the phone back down and shoved it in my pocket.

I walked towards the door— or where I thought the door was, but must have walked in completely the wrong direction because I tripped over something and fell hard onto the gym mats. I shouted as I went down, more out of shock than anything else.

“Are you OK?” Llywelyn called. I saw the door open — so that’s where it was — and then close behind Llywelyn. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”

“Don’t step forwards,” I started, but my warning came way too late. I heard a shout and then had the wind knocked out of me as Llywelyn landed on top of me in a heap.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Llywelyn stopped.

We seemed to have both become aware in the same moment exactly what was going on.

As I recovered my breath, I could focus more and more on Llywelyn lying on top of me, his whole body pressed on mine.

One leg had fallen between both of mine and was pushing between my legs in a way that was starting to excite me, and I knew he could feel it.

In the pitch dark, one of his hands found my face and stroked down my cheek. I felt his breath hot on my face, and then his lips tentatively found mine. I knew I shouldn’t — not worth causing gossip or drama in Nain’s little village — but it was happening anyway, and I was powerless to stop it.

I reached one of my own hands upward to tangle in the curls at the back of his head and deepened the kiss.

Our tongues clashed and teeth knocked together, and Llywelyn’s leg rubbed up against my groin through my jeans.

For a sweet, sweet moment it was just him and me in the darkness. Just for a moment, though.

“Come on in kids, form an orderly line!” Mrs Hayward’s voice echoed from outside the room, in the main hall. “Don’t want to be late for assembly now, do we?”

“Shit,” Llywelyn muttered. “Sorry.” He extricated himself from my arms and reached to pull me up. This moment felt suddenly very un-sexy and I readjusted myself in my pants.

“Do we…leave?” I asked.