Candlenight

Bethan thought Giles looked as pathetic as seven-year-old Huw Morus had looked that morning after wetting himself in class.

'I'll ring her for you later.' Bethan said. 'We've got to get you to the hospital.'

'Bethan. I'm OK. Really, I am.'

'I'll bring the car. Idwal will stay with you. You remember Idwal Roberts whom you interviewed?'

'Hullo again, boy.' said Idwal. 'Talk about politics, is it?'

Pontmeurig Cottage Hospital accepted patients from within a fifteen-mile radius. As with most local hospitals in Wales it did not have a permanent medical staff of its own but was run by the local family doctors. Anybody in need of complicated treatment or surgery was referred at once to the general hospitals in Aberystwyth or Carmarthen.

They took Giles into a small treatment room with whitewashed walls. A local doctor was summoned to look into his left eye, which was cleaned up by a nurse and then re-examined. Serious bruising. Permanent damage unlikely.

The doctor, a youngish man of perhaps Middle-Eastern origins, said to Bethan. 'How did this happen?'

'Slipped in the car park,' Giles replied quickly. 'Running to the car through the rain. Fell into a puddle and hit my head on somebody's bumper.'

'What about the vomit?'

'Turned me sick.' Giles said. 'Hell of a blow.'

'I see. Were you there, Mrs. McQueen?'

'I came along afterwards.'

'Did you. Look, Mr. Freeman. I think I'd like to keep you in overnight, OK?'

'Oh, come on — is that really necessary?'

'I don't know,' said the doctor, who had an educated English accent. 'But let's not take any chances.'

'Well, can I get cleaned up?'

'I sincerely hope so. We're not going to admit you in that state, we have our standards, you know. Excuse me a minute.'

'Just look at my clothes.' Giles said in disgust when the doctor had gone out. 'What am I going to do? I can't put these back on.'

Bethan thought about this. 'What we'll do, Giles — how does this sound? I'll ring Claire and tell her what happened. She can get a change of clothes ready for you and I'll drive over early tomorrow and bring them back.'

Giles shook his head. 'I can't ask you to do that. You'd have to leave at the crack of dawn to go over there and bring the stuff back and then get back in time for school. You can't go to that trouble. No way.'

'How else are you going to get anything. Claire hasn't a car there yet, has she?'

'She hires one from Dilwyn when she needs to go somewhere.'

'And I doubt if anything of Guto's would fit you.'

'This Guto,' Giles said slowly. 'Guto Evans by any chance?'

'Shhhhh,' said Bethan. 'He was not involved, all right? You did not see him.'

Giles tried to smile. 'Thank him for me anyway. I'd have been half dead if he hadn't — hadn't been involved. Who were those guys, anyway, d'you know?'

Bethan said. ''Dai — that's Dai Williams who was with us — he thinks they work in the kitchens at the Plas Meurig. They are not local boys. I am thankful to say.'

Sitting on the edge of the treatment table, looking down at his stockinged feet, Giles told Bethan how it had come about, how the whole thing had developed from one swift hanner peint o gwrw.

'I'm confused.' he said. ''I thought if one was making the effort to learn Welsh… That's what you want, isn't it?'

Bethan gave a frustrated half-laugh. 'Most likely those boys are not Welsh speakers anyway. Some Welsh people are very aggressively opposed to the language. It's not black and white, you must realise that by now.'

'I'm getting better again, Bethan. With the language. I've done a lot of studying.'

'Good. Listen, Giles—'

'I don't know what came over me before. Tired, I think. Headaches. But I'm much better now.'

'Giles, can I ask you a question?'

'Ask away. What have I got to lose?'

'Everything,' said Bethan. That is just it. You have everything to lose. You are a successful journalist with a— She hesitated. ' — a good marriage. A good career, plenty of money, I suppose.'

'Well, you know, enough to be going on with.'

'So why do you want to be part of this mess?' she asked bluntly.

'Mess?' Giles moved along the plastic sheet lo detach his sodden trousers which were sticking to it. 'I don't think it's a mess. Politically, it's very stimulating. I mean, in England most people just vote for whichever party they think is going to benefit them financially. To be in a place where the main issues are cultural and linguistic — national identity at stake… Hey, listen, I'll tell you one thing—' Giles grinned like an idiot, through his pain. 'I bet I'm the first ever English guy to get his head kicked in for speaking Welsh in public.'

'Oh, Giles.' Bethan said. 'It isn't fair, is it?'

How could she tell him that tonight's fracas was probably the least of his problems?

Her face must have become overcast, because he said,

'Look. Bethan — we should have a proper talk sometime, you know.'

The doctor came back before she could fashion a reply.

'Mr. Freeman, we've prepared a bathroom for you. The nurse will help you. How does your head feel'.''

'OK. Just cold. Quite cold '

Giles dropped to the floor and winced.

'Do you have pain anywhere else?'

'Nothing much.'

'I think,' the doctor said, 'that you should go to Bronglais tomorrow—'

'No! No bloody way!'

' — if not tonight. We should have X-rays.'

'For Christ's sake,' Giles snapped. 'It was only a fall. It doubtless looks much worse than it actually is.'

'All right,' the doctor said. 'We'll talk about it tomorrow. Now come and get cleaned up. Would you excuse us, Mrs. McQueen?'

'Of course ' Bethan went to the door and looked back at Giles. 'I'll be back early in the morning.'

'You've been wonderful.' Giles said. 'I think I'm in love with you, Bethan.'

'Join the queue,' the doctor said.

When Bethan got back to her flat over the bookshop, the phone was ringing. Guto. She told him how it had come about that Giles Freeman had been assaulted in the car park.

'Bastards.' Guto said. 'Ought to have handed that bugger over to the cops, but Dai said I could wave goodbye to the candidacy if I was linked to another assault, even as a witness. A minefield, it is, politics.'

'You didn't harm that one, did you?'

'Well, the odd tweak, kind of thing. Nothing that will show. I quite enjoyed it, to be honest. Tell your English friend that when I am MP for Glanmeurig I shall recommend we erect a monument on the Drovers' car park to commemorate his historic stand on behalf of the language.'

It was an ill wind, Bethan thought. Guto seemed to have cheered up considerably.

She switched on lights, plugged in the kettle and sat down to telephone Claire, wondering what the reaction would be.

Perhaps this would bring Claire down to earth again. Giles would need some looking after.

In Y Groes the phone rang five times. Then there was a bleep, a pause and Claire's recorded voice said,

'Y Groes dau, tri, naw. Dyma Claire Rhys..

The message, in near-perfect Welsh, said Claire Rhys was not available to come to the telephone but the caller could leave a message after the tone.

Bethan's own answering machine had a message in Welsh, followed by a translation. Thousands of