He shrugged. ‘Actually, I’m more into my visceral horror – you know, torture porn? Love that stuff!’
‘Really? I’ve always been a bit squeamish, me,’ said Gwen. ‘Never could stand the sight of blood.’ She looked long and hard at Gavin. Do I really have to talk to this moron for a whole five minutes?
‘Shame,’ continued Gavin. ‘There used to be a few clubs in Cardiff, you know…’ He leaned forward, conspiratorially, his breath catching Gwen like a force field. ‘Tales of all sorts of horrors. Like fight club – but with beasts.’
‘What kind of beasts?’ Gwen was genuinely intrigued.
‘Well, you see, people said it was aliens. Aliens fighting humans. But I don’t believe all that. There’s a lot of conspiracy theories – you know how it is with all the stuff that’s been going on in the last couple of years.’
‘Yeah,’ said Gwen, almost impossibly slowly.
‘But lots of it’s nuts. I mean – all this talk of alien visits, and ships in the sky and so on. But it’s all “a friend of a friend”, isn’t it? Have you ever met anyone who’s actually met an alien? Talked to one? No? I thought not.’ Gavin smiled in a satisfied way.
‘No. Not me. I’ve always lived a quiet life,’ said Gwen.
‘Oh, don’t get me wrong – it’s not all blood and gore for Mr Gavin. Sometimes, I like nothing better than to chill at home with a pizza and some boxsets. That can be dead romantic, can’t it?’
‘Oh god, can it?’ sighed Gwen.
One thing that should have alerted Gwen to the nearby presence of an alien device is the fact that this conversation had only taken ten seconds. She had another four minutes and fifty seconds of speed-dating with Gavin to go. And nothing more to say to him.
Emma was talking to some poor kid. He was babbling away about how awful his flat was. ‘See, this bloke moved back to help his folks run a cinema. He let it out dead cheap, and I thought I had a bargain. Real impressive it is – at the back of an old warehouse. The square footage is amazing, although the bathroom leaks.’
Emma was nodding quietly, trying to imagine him with better skin, or a clean T-shirt, maybe, or a bit Scottish, or blond or something.
‘Thing is, it really is an old warehouse. If I meet a girl out and she comes home, she thinks I’m like a serial killer or something. Honestly, before I even start unbolting the hangar door they’re phoning a cab…’
‘And, actually, at the moment, I’m really into World Music.’
PATRICK MATTHEWS IS VERY MUCH STILL ALIVE
Patrick lifted the rubbish out onto the dumpster. He spun when he heard the footsteps behind him.
‘God!’ he breathed. ‘Ianto! You nearly scared me to death.’ The girl looked genuinely alarmed. ‘Really? Oh, I hope not. I really hope not. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.’
Patrick smiled. ‘You didn’t, eh? Then what you doing creeping up on me in a dark alley?’
Ianto looked bemused. ‘I’m surprisingly used to alleys.’
‘Is that so?’ He smiled again, and leaned closer. ‘So you really checking up on me, or just trying for a quick snog without Bren noticing?’
Up close, Patrick smelt of fresh hot oil and vinegar. Ianto realised he was breathing quickly. ‘Er,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ Patrick smiled, really amused.
‘Everything been all right? In the shop, and all?’ Oh god, I’m babbling, thought Ianto.
‘Yes. Fine. Couple of boys decided to kick off tonight, but I soon cleared them out. I’m so glad I played a lot of rugby at school.’
‘Yeah, always comes in handy,’ said Ianto. ‘Um. Girl’s rugby. Obviously.’
‘Obviously, yeah,’ Patrick smirked, and started to undo his apron strings. ‘So, is that it?’
Ianto nodded, eagerly. ‘Honestly, genuinely, just checking up on you. You’re alive, tick, good. Carry on.’
‘And?’ Patrick leaned back against the wall, smirking.
Ianto looked round, and slumped with defeat. ‘Oh all right, but just a quick snog.’
GWEN HAS HAD BETTER NIGHTS
Gwen sat down and scowled at the man opposite her.
‘Hello, I’m Gwen,’ she said flatly.
‘Hello, ugly, I’m Rhys,’ the man said back to her. He was grinning like a smug cat.
‘And what do you do for a living?’
‘Aw, I break hearts, I do, darling. How about you?’
Gwen shrugged. ‘I work for a top-secret organisation that protects Cardiff from alien invasion. I like to think I’m bloody good at it. What about you? Moved any vans around in a timely fashion recently?’
Rhys grinned broadly. ‘Oh, a few. So. Single are you?’
‘Oh yes,’ nodded Gwen. ‘Well, more widowed, really.’
‘Is that so? Tragic.’ Rhys tutted. ‘What killed him? Was it your cooking?’
‘Noooo,’ Gwen assured him, brightly. ‘One day, he spent so much time on the sofa that it ate him.’ She swilled down the dregs of the third complimentary Bellini she’d managed to grab from the bar. She was getting a bit giggly. Probably from all the small talk.
‘You know,’ said Rhys, smiling back at her, ‘you remind me of my last girlfriend. Only she had less split ends, you know.’
‘When this is over…’
‘We’re getting chips?’
Gwen shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. I’m being unpredictable. I’ve heard it adds spice to a relationship. Now – seen any psychos?’
Rhys shook his head. ‘Apart from my wife, no. Everyone’s been very sweet, actually. You?’
Gwen shook her head. ‘Let’s just say I’ve discovered I could do worse.’
‘That’s charming, that is,’ said Rhys.
‘Do you want chips on the way home or not?’
Helena tinkled a little bell, signalling time to change partners. ‘Aw, and I was having such a laugh,’ Rhys stood up. ‘So do you want to see me again?’
‘Not as long as I live,’ said Gwen.
Rhys left Gwen, grinning. It hadn’t, to be truthful, been a great night for the Williams ego. Not that he’d let Gwen know. No, as far as she was concerned, it had been all honey and roses. But it had also been a nasty reminder of what the world outside his little nest was like.
True, there were times when all he remembered was the fun of being single, that mad prehistoric time before he met Gwen. Those rare golden nights when it was way past booze o’clock, somewhere in between kebab and the last pint sinking like lead… that lovely, carefree moment when a girl would look at you across the Walkabout and her eyes would stay on you for a bit long, and Lottery Clive would nudge you on the shoulder and say ‘Wahey – you’re in there.’ And you’d pretend not to notice, but you’d look back, and she’d look back, and then…
Oh, the fun of it all.
As far as he could remember.
Compared to all those evenings in, waiting for Gwen not to turn up. Feeling a bit like his mum, waiting up for his dad to get back from a late shift, and trying not to flinch when he breathed beer over her while she laid out the tea things and straightened down the tablecloth.
Or those cold evenings alone in the flat, when Daveo was out, and Banana Boat was off on one of his Grail quests, and it was just Rhys and the TV guide, suddenly it all felt a bit wrong. So empty. So lonely. And then, eventually, normally a bottle of beer too late, the key would turn in the lock, and there would be Gwen, all big smiles and hurried apologies and bright, bright enthusiasm for whatever he could salvage from the risotto. And it would be like they were on stage, in a play. The Gwen and Rhys Show. Was it a comedy, or a tragedy?