Aberystwyth Mon Amour

They turned and looked sadly at an old man at the end of the table. He was trying desperately to follow the conversation but it was obvious his hearing wasn't good enough. Instead he sat there trembling and forcing himself to laugh when the others did.

'That's Brother Tobias, and he has as good a chance as anyone.' The warmth had left Brother Gilbert's voice now.

Brother Bill leaned across to me. 'You didn't ought to talk about the brothers like that. You didn't ought to disrespect them.'

'Well wise up and see the truth. Brother Tobias doesn't stand a chance with Myfanwy and neither do any of you.'

Brother Frank punched the table and squealed at my heresy. 'No! No! No! It's not true! Everyone has a chance!'

'Because Myfanwy is so good and pure.'

'Is that what you think, is it?' I sneered.

'I can prove it!'

'Yeah! How?' If only I hadn't asked.

Brother Frank brought his face right up to mine, his eyes moist with anger.

'Because . . . because she even went out with that crippled schoolboy!'

'Could have had any man in Wales, as well,' added Gilbert.

I sat there aware that my stomach had just dropped into my shoes. For seconds I couldn't speak, until finally I managed, 'Wh . . . what did you say?'

'The crippled schoolboy — with the bad leg. The one that died. Lovers they were.'

'You mean Dai Brainbocs?'

'Yes!' Gilbert insisted. 'Him!'

'Good God!' I said finally.

I sat unable to speak or move. Twenty minutes later Bianca walked in and told me Myfanwy was up at the hospital. Evans the Boot was dead.

Chapter 13

IT WAS RAINING heavily outside and the streets, glassy and shiny, were largely deserted as I sped down Great Darkgate Street to the hospital. My heart was racing and my mouth dry with fear; the news that Evans the Boot was dead meant nothing, but the revelation that Myfanwy and Brainbocs had been lovers was a pile-driver to the heart. At the hospital I parked as close as I could get to the main door, stepped out and walked across through the driving rain to the garishly lit entrance. A policeman stepped out of the shadows and blocked my way.

'Where you going?'

'Is there a law against visiting the hospital?'

'It's not visiting hours, come back in the morning.'

Another figure stepped out of the shadows. It was Llunos. As usual he didn't look pleased to see me.

'Your mum shag a vulture, or what?'

'What's that mean?'

'Every time I find a corpse, you turn up.'

'I could say the same for you.'

'You could but you'd need to visit the dentist after. What do you want?'

I realised there was no way Llunos was going to let me in, so I decided on a long shot — the truth. 'I need to see Myfanwy.'

I could see he was unused to dealing with it.

'What makes you think she's here?'

'Someone told me they found Evans and she's down at the morgue. I don't need to go in, my business is with her, not Evans the Boot. If you could get a message to her, to tell her I was here, I could wait over there in my car.'

The uniformed policeman started to laugh, 'Oh isn't that sweet! If we could just get a message —'

Llunos shut him up by waving an impatient hand at him. Then he looked at me, 'In your car?'

I nodded.

'OK we can do that. I'll let her know.'

I waited in the car for about half an hour, listening to the rhythmic droning of the windscreen wipers. Eventually I saw Myfanwy walking through the parked cars towards me. I flashed the lights. When she got in we were both in near-prefect darkness but even though I couldn't see, I could tell she'd been crying.

'Myfanwy -'

'Don't.'

Silence filled the car and amplified the sounds as we shifted in our seats.

'Can we just drive somewhere?'

'Where?'

'Anywhere, it doesn't matter. Please.'

I turned on the engine.

'Anywhere as long as it's away from Aberystwyth.'

The rain was driving hard, sweeping in from the sea. Outside the hospital car park I turned right, up over Penglais Hill, and on into the darkened landscape beyond. Myfanwy told me about Evans. He'd been found earlier in the day by a man walking his dog. The dog had run off to fetch a stick and returned with a finger. The body had been crudely buried under gorse bushes but little attempt had been made to conceal it. Someone had disfigured it and removed the fingerprints in the time-honoured way of immersion in a mixture of battery acid and local cheese. Police were still hopeful of a positive identification when the pathologists were finished.

We drove to the caravan. I shouldn't have revealed its location to Myfanwy but I didn't care. The park was quieter than a cemetery when we arrived, the only sound the squeaking of the Fresh Milk sign from the general store and the far-off hum of the ocean beyond the dunes. The rain had stopped. It was cold and damp inside the caravan, but the camping-gas heater soon filled the interior with a cosy yellow warmth. The lamps sighed as they burned. Myfanwy sat at the horse-shoe arrangement of seats at the end, rested her elbows on the Formica table-top and buried her head wearily in her hands. I made two cups of packet soup in the kitchenette, poured a shot of rum into each, and took them over to the table. Myfanwy had found the ludo and was setting out the counters.

'Suppose you tell me about Brainbocs.'

She rolled the dice. Four and a five; you needed a six to start.

'What do you mean?'

I rolled a six and a one, and set off on my journey around the board. How many other people, honeymooners and young families, had made the same journey as the rain swept in from the sea and pounded on the plywood roof of their shoebox on wheels? Families who had driven for two or three hours, stopping occasionally for puking children, to this world of gorse and marram grass, dunes and bingo and fish and chips.

'Your cousin's dead, Myfanwy. Don't you think it's time to stop playing games?'

She picked up the dice and shook. They made a hollow clip-clopping sound inside the cup.

'I'm not playing games.'

'You haven't been straight with me.' Clip-clop, four and three.

'I've told you everything I know.' Double six. 'Oooh!'

I put my hand palm down on the counters before she could move them.

'You didn't tell me you and Brainbocs were lovers.'

It caught her by surprise and she bit her lip. 'We weren't.'

'That's not what I hear.'

'Well whoever told you that was a liar. We weren't lovers. I mean we didn't you know ... do it.'

'What did you do?'

'Nothing. Honest.'

'Why don't you tell me about it?'

'It's not like you think.'

'You don't know what I think.'

'We weren't lovers, he just had this thing about me. All through school he'd had a thing about me; a lot of boys did. It's not a crime.'

'No,' I said gently, 'but a crime has been committed, and now you have to be straight with me.'

Clip-clop, double five. She paused. 'It started just after I took the job at the Moulin - when he found out about it he was really upset. He came down one night but they wouldn't let him in. So he waited outside. I left that night with a gentleman and I saw Brainbocs just as I got into the car. He was standing in the doorway of Army Surplice and staring like he'd seen a ghost. The next night he was there again. And the next. It came to be a pattern: he'd come down and try to get in, they wouldn't let him, and then he'd spend the rest of the evening standing outside. At first the bouncers tried to frighten him away. But he didn't seem to care. I think he knew there wasn't much they could do to a poor lame boy. When it rained he stood there in the rain, soaked and not even shivering. Eventually the boss asked me to go and speak to him. So I did.'

'When did all this happen?'