Candlenight

phrases nobody, he felt, could be quite sure he wasn't a native.

The barman gave him his change.

'Diolch yn fawr iawn' Giles said in a louder voice, more confident now.

To his right, there was a sharp silence, somebody putting the brakes on a conversation. 'What was that?' a man's voice said in the centre of the hush.

'Beg your pardon—?' Giles turned, thinking, damn, should have said that in Welsh, blown my cover now.

On the next stool sat the youth he'd spoken to in the gents. Not looking quite as youthful now. Around twenty-three, twenty-four, thick-set, face pitted, lower lip sticking out like a shelf, eyes deep-sunk under short sandy hair. He nodded towards the bar. 'What you ordered.'

'Well.' Giles replied, holding up his glass to the light. 'It should be a half of bitter.'

The young man was not looking at Giles's glass, he was looking hard at Giles. He said. 'Oh, that's what it was.' Behind him was another young man on another bar stool. This one had prematurely-thinning black hair and a slit of a mouth, like a shaving cut.

'What I actually said to the barman here was hanner peint o gwrw,' Giles explained. 'I'm learning Welsh.' He smiled sheepishly. 'Got to practise.'

Two mouths went into simultaneous sneers. The eyes were still fixed on Giles, who realised he'd got it wrong; this chap wasn't an incomer at all.

The man turned to his companion. 'Learning Welsh, he is, this… gentleman' Turned back to Giles, unsmiling. 'Go on then, say it again?'

'What d'you mean?'

'Go on—hanner…'

Giles said quickly, 'Hanner peint o gwrw.' Not liking the way these two were looking at him, almost smelling the sour hostility.

A blast of rain splattered a window behind his head.

'Didn't catch that.' Slit-mouth. 'Say it again.'

'Hanner… oh. come on!'

'No, we want to learn, isn't it?' the other one said. He had a face like the cratered moon. 'We want to speak our own language as good as you, see.'

'I reckon that's all he can talk about, the beer.'

'Oh no, talking to me in the lav, he was. He's an expert. He can do the weather too.'

'Maybe he was takin' the piss, Gary '

'Fuck, I never thought of that.' Heavily-feigned surprise. Still staring at Giles. 'Takin' the piss, is it?'

Giles said evenly. 'I can assure you I was not taking the piss. If I'm trying to learn the language, I've got to use it. haven't I? Is there any other way? I mean, what am I supposed to do?'

Definitely uncomfortable now — bloody yobs — he glanced around to see if there was anybody he knew even slightly, some group he could join. Didn't recognise a soul. Apart from a handful of men around the dart board the customers were all sitting at tables. There were no more than fifteen people in the room. The barman was at the other end of the bar, watching the darts.

The silence set around Giles like cement. Clearly. Pontmeurig was just like any other town these days, full of nighttime aggro. All very sad. Disappointing.

'Well now, there's an answer to that,' Crater-face said, all casual, elbow on the bar, hand propping his chin. 'I can tell you what you ought to do, English. Ought to fuck off back where you came from, isn't it.'

'Yes. all right, I will.' Giles made himself take a longish drink. He'd finish his beer and get out. This was not convivial. What a country — layer upon layer of resentment.

'We'll come with you,' Slit-mouth said.

'That won't be necessary.' Giles muttered.

'Least we can do.' Crater-face smiled with lurid menace. Show you the right road, see.'

'Hate you to get lost.' Slit-mouth said.

'Finish your drink, English.' Crater-face said.

He had lowered his voice so as not be overheard by a stooping man with a bald head who was paying for a tray of drinks: three pints of bitter and a glass of dry white wine.

… Ah, no, well, that Freeman does not seem a bad chap.' Idwal was saying as Dai laid the tray on the table. Compared with some of them.'

The training session had been abandoned.

'That's because he turned you into an overnight superstar,' said Guto. 'Idwal Roberts, political pundit, social commentator, media personality…'

'He is actually OK,' Bethan said, lifting her wine glass from the tray 'Quite fair minded. Thank you, Dai.'

She was sure Giles had learned about Guto and the pub incident. But he hadn't used it in his article — even though it would have underlined the point he was trying to make about Guto being the party hard-man.

'What I mean is,' she said. 'Giles is sympathetic. He can see what the incomers are doing to Wales and he doesn't want to be that kind of incomer. That is why he's so concerned about learning Welsh.'

Dai Death said, 'You're acquainted with this reporter from London then. Bethan?'

'Who do you think is teaching the bugger Welsh?' said Guto.

'He wants to learn Welsh for the election? There's enthusiasm.'

'No, Dai,' said Bethan. 'He is thinking longer term. He has acquired a house in Y Groes.'

A short but volcanic silence followed this disclosure.

'Y Groes!' Dai's voice rose to a squeak. He lurched in his seat, his bald head shining with hot indignation. 'How the hell did he find a house there?'

Of course, Bethan realised. A sore point.

Amid muted rumblings from Guto about wealthy bloody incomers being able to find anything they wanted anywhere at a price, she briefly explained how Claire and Giles Freeman had gained admittance to Paradise.

Dai scowled.

'I've never been one to attack the incomers.' he said. 'Nothing personal, like. But the first house since I don't know when to come available in Y Groes… and it goes without a word, to a bloody Englishman. There is no justice.'

'Englishwoman,' Bethan said.

Idwal Roberts sniffed.

'I will tell you one thing.' he said, tamping down the tobacco in his pipe. 'You would not catch me living there. Godless place, that village, always has been.'

Bethan, who had begun her teaching career as a member of ldwal's staff at Pontmeurig's Nantglas Primary School, had heard that since his retirement he had somewhat deepened his commitment to non-conformist religion.

'Godless,' he said.

'Only on your terms, man.' said Dai. still annoyed. 'Just because there is no chapel anymore.'

'No,' Idwal waved his pipe in the air. 'That's not—'

'Still a church there.' Dai said. 'Bloody good church.'

Guto looked up innocently from his beer. 'Still a chapel too. Had my car repaired there once.'

'What?' Dai looked blank for a moment. 'Oh, you mean Dilwyn Dafis's garage. I forgot that used to be a chapel.

'Aye, well, still a public service, isn't it? And plenty of room for the ramp, see, with that high ceiling.'

'What I was meaning—' Idwal said.

'What is more,' said Guto deadpan, 'give Dilwyn Dafis a couple of quid on top, and you can have your bloody brake linings blessed.'

'This is getting stupid.' Giles said.

Light conversation, in both English and Welsh, went on around them, the thump of darts on the board, nobody appearing to notice anything amiss or picking up on the tension. Giles knew how it must look — as if the three of them were having a nice quiet chat about beer-prices or the prospects of the Meurig bursting its banks.