Vacation TwoChapter 62
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Blackwood, south Wales, a few days before Christmas
It was just after one in the afternoon on the last Friday before Christmas and the pub was busier and noisier than it had been in a little while. People appeared happy, celebrating the rapidly approaching Christmas, but there was a brittle atmosphere, as if no one could quite work out whether they were allowed to be happy, allowed to be here. There were two parties in, obviously a couple of works Christmas do’s. Twenty-one women from the local bread factory, at one large table, and a smaller party of nine, mostly men, from a local firm of solicitors, sat at another on the other side of the room. The larger party was loud and raucous, obviously factory line workers, with lots of laughter, along with lots of food and drink. The other was far more sober, with a lot more intense discussion around their meal. They had almost as much to drink, but consumed slower and with more deliberation.
There were a number of other couples and families who had also ordered food, and the odd single drinker. It was a large pub, with seating for just under two hundred and standing room for more. In years past it would have been completely full at this time of the day and year, with people standing around and waiting to be seated for meals. So even though there were about sixty patrons in, it was only the raucous noise that made it seem fuller than it was.
Not far from the main entrance sat one Timothy Eaton. He was nursing a single beer, had been drinking, very slowly, for nearly an hour and still hadn’t drunk much more than half of his pint. He was looking for someone, waiting for someone. He didn’t know who he was waiting for, but he was pretty certain he would recognise that person when he, or she, appeared.
Across the other side of the pub sat Jonas Priestley. He had arrived some five minutes after Timothy, and he too was discreetly watching the main door, waiting for someone. Like Timothy Eaton, he didn’t know who he was waiting for. Jonas was less certain he would recognise that person, less certain that there would be anyone today. But hoped. Neither men could see each other, and neither was aware of the other’s presence. Timothy had seen Jonas arrive and only knew he wasn’t the person he was waiting for, so dismissed him from his mind. Both were waiting for the same thing, for the same person, but for very different reasons.
What changed was Siôn Williams arriving in the pub, along with four other men. Siôn is the Welsh form of, and pronounced the same as, the Irish Seán, or even the English Shawn. Of course all are simply a variation of the name John. Siôn had been a rugby player at school, not a particularly good one, but he’d enjoyed playing and had kept it up by now playing for Blackwood RUFC in the fourth team. He was big, muscular, and very strong, but rather uncoordinated. He was not the sharpest tool in the box, but was one of the softest, kindest, gentlest men you could ever hope to meet, and currently worked as a labourer for the local council, helping to repair local roads. It was the size of the five men that attracted the attention of both Timothy Eaton and Jonas Priestly. The other four, though still obviously big and strong, were not as big and bulky as Siôn. It had been Siôn’s size that initially drew the attention of Tim and Jonas, but the fact that all five were so big was what kept their attention.
Jonas reacted first. As Siôn got to the bar with his friends, Jonas stood.
“Hey Gip,” one of other men said to the barman. “Five best please, and a few bags of crisps, cheese and onion, salt and vinegar and a couple of ready salted.”
Gip, the barman, nodded, smiling. “How’s it going guys? Haven’t seen you for a while. You ordering food as well?”
Siôn and one other shook their heads, but a third asked for a menu, which Gip handed over.
While Gip was pulling the pints of Brains ‘best’ bitter, Jonas slowly and deliberately approached the bar. Behind him, and unseen by him, Timothy was also approaching, and could now see that Jonas was looking to talk to the people he’d been looking to talk to.
“Who are you guys?” asked Jonas suspiciously. He dropped his voice slightly. “Are you guys Confederacy Marines? Is this a collection?”
Timothy hadn’t heard exactly what Jonas had said, but he had heard the words ‘Confederacy’ and ‘collection.’ He moved forwards, his face now lighting up with excitement.
“Huh?” It was Siôn who responded first, but only because he was facing the pair. “Hywel?”
The man who had placed the initial order turned. “What?”
Gip had also noticed what was happening and frowned, but he was in the middle of pulling a pint.
“Are you, or are you not, Confederacy Marines?” asked Jonas again, firmly and clearly, but quietly. “Is this a collection?”
“No.” Said Hywel. He stared firmly at Jonas.
Jonas frowned just as Timothy arrived. “What’s going on?” Timothy asked. “Are you collecting for the Confederacy?”
“We’re in for a fuckin’ lunchtime drink,” snapped Hywel. “Now piss off, both of you.”
Gip moved forwards, passing over the drinks that Hywel had ordered a couple of minutes earlier. “What’s going on?” he asked cautiously. He’d known the road crew for a couple of years and knew that Hywel, despite being the foreman, had a notoriously short temper.
“These knobs think we’re some sort of confederation collection team,” Hywel said scornfully, turning back to the bar.
“Well I think you are,” Jonas said sharply. “Why else would you come in here? You look like you’re in disguise. You must be a collection team.”
“We’ve come in ‘ere now ‘cos it’s lunchtime. Right?” snarled Hywel. “An’ we’re ‘ungry. ‘An thirsty. More’n that it’s fuckin’ cold out and we’ve been fixing pot’oles for the fuckin’ council. That’s why we’re dressed like this. Right? Got that? Now piss off and leave us alone!” The last bit had got louder and more forceful. He glared menacingly at Jonas, his fists balling.
Jonas just stared back, frowning suspiciously.
“Go and sit down sir,” Gip, the barman, said to Jonas. “I’ve known these guys for years. Siôn there plays for the local rugby club, and Hywel used to. They are not and never have been anything to do with the aliens.”
Still standing four or five feet behind Jonas, Timothy’s face fell. He was disappointed, but he accepted Gip’s assertion. Jonas glanced briefly at Gip, then nodded once and backed slowly off. It was evident he didn’t really believe what he’d been told, but would accept it for now. He turned and spotted Timothy. “Who are you?” he asked quietly but with a bit of snap in his tone.
“Me? I was just hoping they were collecting. Collecting for the Confederacy.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why not? I’d like to go. I can tell you do too. I know you saw how big they were and from the rumours guessed they must be a collection team of some sort. It’s why I guessed.” Timothy seemed almost breathless following his excitement and disappointment.
“You think they are?” asked Jonas.
“I did. But the barman says he knows them and they’re not.”
“Hmm. I’m not convinced. I still think it’s a put-up. They’re pretending.”
Timothy frowned in puzzlement. “Pretending what? That they are, or that they’re not?”
“Pretending they’re not,” said Jonas shortly. “There’s no way they’re just a road repair crew. No way. Just look at them. They’ve got to be a collection team. And I’m gonna prove it.”
“How? If they start a collection that proves one way, but what if they are and you’ve scared them off. Now they won’t and you’ll never know for certain.”
Jonas frowned, looking at the floor while he thought furiously. He looked up. “Come on. I know how.”
Timothy hesitated for a moment then followed the other man out of the pub and into the carpark. “What?” asked Timothy.
“I’ll know it when I don’t see it,” muttered Jonas.
“Huh?” Now Timothy was confused, but he followed Jonas.
“I think they’re just checking it out. The pubs pretty empty so I don’t think they’re gonna collect anyway. They were just checking it out. They’ll probably actually collect tomorrow.”
“Why do you think they’re not a road crew?”
“When have you ever seen a mobile road crew bigger than three?”
“Loads of times,” Timothy said.
“Really?” Jonas asked sceptically, looking at him with raised eyebrows.
Timothy nodded. “So what are you checking out here?”
“You’ll see. Or rather, you won’t.” Jonas sounded completely sure of himself. Timothy was still confused, but this time just mentally shrugged and followed Jonas, hoping to be let in on the secret.
It was actually quite a large carpark that went around three sides of the building. The two men walked around to the back. “Oh,” said Jonas, disappointment very evident in his voice.
“What?” asked Timothy, still puzzled.
Jonas pointed at two vans parked at the end. “I was sure they wouldn’t be here.”
The two vans so indicated, one a smaller car-derived-van, the other a larger transit van sized vehicle, both had Caerphilly County Borough Council Highway Maintenance signs on the side.
“Oh!” Timothy suddenly understood. “If they weren’t who they said they were, those vans wouldn’t’ve been there.”
“Exactly.” He paused. “Bet it’s just cover. They’re clever. Even cleverer than I thought. They must have guessed.”
“Not convinced,” Timothy said. “I do think they’re exactly who they said they are.”
Jonas looked at him, frowning. “You think they are just council workers?”
“I do.”
“And if they are, or had been, a collection team?”
“Well, I want to be collected. I want to get away. I don’t like Thorn. I never did even when he was just a back bencher. I don’t like what he’s done to this country, and what he’s doing to it. Still doing to it.”
Jonas just nodded slowly. “Have you got a car here?”
“Uh huh. Why?”
“Go grab it. Bring it closer, park it, ... oh ... over there.” He pointed at a spot half a dozen bays away from the vans.”
Timothy nodded and turned away.
Five minutes later, Jonas re-entered the pub. Gip raised his eyes for a moment, just to check who was coming through the door, but then turned back to his task at hand: pouring three glasses of good brandy. He had already poured a gin and tonic, as well as a couple of glasses of red wine, a scotch and two glasses of orange. For the drivers of that particular party, he assumed. Timothy wasn’t with Jonas, but Gip didn’t think anything of it, he didn’t always notice who was coming in and out.
Re-seating himself, Jonas took a pull from his drink, a large cola, and then just carried on waiting. However what he was waiting for had changed as now he kept an eye on the group of men who claimed to be council workers. He still wasn’t convinced about their story and planned on following them after they left. To that end he had moved his car from one side of the carpark closer to where the two vans were and closer to the exit.
Hywel and his crew all ordered plates of sandwiches, which came ten minutes later along with a second drink, so Jonas had nearly an hour more to wait before his targets stood and began to make their way out.
“See ya!” Hywel called to Gip.
“Take care guys, see ya soon.”
Jonas wandered up to the bar. “Sorry about earlier,” he said to Gip. “They really do look a bit like how you would imagine a confederacy collection team might look. And I was sort of hoping, well, you know.”
Gip nodded. “Another drink?”
“Cola please. No ice.”
The drink poured and paid for, Gip was about to turn away when Jonas spoke again. “Sorry, you can probably guess from my accent that I’m not exactly local, but those names. Are they Welsh names?”
Gip nodded. “Hywel,” he pronounced it ‘Howell’ then spelt it out for Jonas. “And Siôn,” again he pronounced it ‘Shawn’ and spelt it out. “Reasonably common Welsh names. Yes.” He smiled slightly. “There’s a female equivalent of Siôn, Siân. Instead of an ‘Oh’ with a circumflex, it’s an ‘Ay’ with circumflex and pronounced ‘Sharn’ rather than ‘Shawn’.”
Jonas smiled slightly. “Okay. Ta.”
“And if you really want to show yourself as less ignorant than most Englishmen in Wales, the circumflex has a number of names, but is most commonly, colloquially, called ‘to bach’. Little roof.”
Jonas laughed. “Little roof! I like that. Don’t people call houses something like that? Particularly retirement houses. Or something.”
It was Gip’s turn to laugh. He laughed uproariously. “Ty Bach. Little House. Yes. But only the ignorant call it that. It does indeed mean Little House. But ‘little house’ is another name for ‘out house’.” He roared with laughter again. Jonas looked at him puzzled for a moment, then broke into a small smile as he realised. The ‘out house’ was the name for the old fashioned outside lavatory. So people calling their house Ty Bach, were unintentionally called their house ‘the lavatory’. Within a few moments he was laughing along with Gip.
“Very good,” he said, trying to get his laughter under control. “I’ll have to remember that one. Thank you.”
At that moment Hywel came back in. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a foot pump have you?” he asked Gip. The tyre on one of the vans is soft. Must have a slow leak.”
“I’ve got an electric one,” Jonas said softly. “Plugs into the cigarette lighter and can get up to about 35psi. If that’s any good to you?”
“Yeah, that’d be good. Thanks.”
Jonas drank half his glass of cola in one, and put it down on the bar, pushing it towards Gip, nodding. “Thanks.”
Gip smiled slightly and picked up the glass to empty and wash it.
Turning to Hywel, Jonas nodded. “Lead on.”
They left the pub and Jonas turned to walk to his car. Hywel waited by the pub door, as his van was the other way. Jonas turned. “Oh, er. Where’s your van?” He knew but had suddenly realised he wasn’t supposed to know.
Hywel pointed to the side of the building. “Just round by there.”
Jonas shuddered delicately, but nodded and turned back to his car. “I’ll drive it round,” he called over his shoulder. The Welsh habit of putting the word ‘by’ in front of the word ‘there’ or ‘here’ when referring to places or directions, irritated him far more than it should. “Over by there?” he muttered to himself. “Over there! Fuckin’ erks. Not ‘round by there’. ‘Round there’. ‘Over by here?’ Shit!” He knew it shouldn’t annoy him, but it did.
He took a deep breath to calm himself and got into his car. Manoeuvring out of the space he saw Hywel by the corner waiting for him. He flashed his headlights briefly then moved slowly forwards. Hywel disappeared around the corner. He was almost to the vans when Jonas caught up with him. He could see the almost flat tyre. But then, he’d let the air out, and stood with the barman, all hoping for something like this. It seemed to be his lucky day so far.
It took him a couple of minutes to pump up the tyre to the the requisite 32PSI, while the five council workers, supposedly, stood around watching, not saying much. When he’d finished, he unplugged everything and stood up. “You should get one of these. They’re only twenty-odd quid.”
“You think council’ll pay for somat like that?” Hywel asked with a scornful laugh. “Yeah right!” He stuck out his hand. “Thanks for the loan anyroad.”
Jonas took the hand. It was hard, rough and calloused. Exactly how a labourers might be. Or maybe an infantryman? Jonas wondered, suddenly no longer quite so sure as he had been. He expected an infantryman’s hand and grip to be hard, but quite this calloused and rough? He smiled briefly and nodded.
The workmen got back into their vehicles and drove off. Jonas gave it a few seconds then casually followed them. Ten minutes later he knew he’d been wrong. “Fuck!” he snapped, watching them as they started to work. The men were exactly what they’d said they were: council workers repairing pot holes in the roads.
“Back to fucking square one,” he groused. It was too risky to head back to that pub today, the barman, Gip, would surely get more than a bit puzzled. “What a strange name,” thought Jonas suddenly. He shrugged. “Short form? Nickname of some sort? Welsh name he’d not come across?” He puzzled over it for a moment, but then just shrugged it off.
The ringing phone dragged him, kicking and screaming, from his sleep. He looked at the bedside clock. “Shit,” he groused. He’d been in bed barely an hour. He picked up the phone and looked at the caller display.
“Mother!” He snapped. “It’s nine in the morning and I’ve only just come off a night shift. I told you that yesterday. I’m on again tonight so I need my sleep.”
“I’m sorry Colin, but it’s important,” came the voice of his mother. It sounded like she’d been crying.
“What’s up?” Tiredness and a touch of embarrassment from snapping at his mother made him blunt.
“Have you heard from your brother recently?”
“I have two brothers!” Colin muttered brusquely.
“Sorry, sorry. Timothy. Have you heard from Timothy?”
“Not since Thursday. Why?”
“Did he say anything?”
Colin tried to think back three days. “No. I don’t think so. Why?”
“He was supposed to be coming home for Christmas. He told me last week he’d be here yesterday. I wasn’t too worried when he didn’t arrive, but I left him a message on his phone. I was hoping he’d be here by now. I’ve tried ringing him a few times but he’s not answering.”
“Maybe he’s driving,” Colin said bluntly. Almost harshly.
“Yes but he has that system that allows him to connect his phone to the car so he can talk and still be hands free.”
Colin sighed. “Blue tooth. Yes. I’ve got it too. Maybe he hasn’t switched it on. I rarely do.”
“He usually does...”
Colin interrupted his mother. “Mother. If he left home at a reasonable time, he won’t be there for another hour. At least.” He sighed. “Look. I need my sleep, but if he hasn’t arrived, or at least been in touch, by mid-day, call me back. Okay?”
“I’m sorry love. I know you work hard but I’m worried. Your youngest brother is smart, but he’s also naive.”
“I’m sorry too Mum. I didn’t mean to snap, but I’m shattered. We were mad busy last night. I need to get some rest. Is it okay if you call me later?”
“Yes love. Of course.” And without waiting for her son to reply, she hung up.
Colin sighed, hung up, lay down again and was asleep in seconds.
The next call came at ten past twelve. Again waking him from a deep sleep. He looked at the clock and sighed, knowing it was his mother again. Evidently Tim still wasn’t home.
“He’s not arrived?”
“No. But something funny is going on. I had a call from the Security Patrol about half an hour ago.”
“Oh?” Colin was suddenly wide awake.
“His car was reported as abandoned in a pub carpark a good few miles from where he lives. Apparently it’s been there since Friday. Friday lunchtime.”
“Friday?” Colin was worried now. His brother hadn’t mentioned going to the pub, though that wasn’t unusual. More importantly though, there were four or five nice pubs within easy walking distance of his brother’s small flat, so why had he gone to one so far away that he had to drive there? In any case he didn’t normally do pubs at lunchtime as he was working or studying. The more he thought about it, the odder it sounded. “Did they say which pub? Where?”
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