Candlenight

they had not been there this morning.

'Can we move the table back from the fire?' the plump woman was saying. Half stripped, she was. 'Too hot even for me.'

He wanted to tell them to drink up and go.

In fact — realisation flared around him, underfired with a simmering fear — he wanted to go with them.

But if they did not go, he knew he could not stay and watch it happen, as he knew it must.

Chapter LXVII

Medieval, perpendicular. Two-tiered, pyramidal, timber- framed bellchamber…

The church was a giant monolith in its circular graveyard, its spire always seemed to be outlined against the brightest part of the sky, from wherever you were standing.

From the churchyard, you looked up and the whole edifice seemed to be swinging towards you, like a massive pendulum suspended from the moon itself.

'I can't,' Bethan said. 'I don't think I've ever liked old churches, even in the daylight, and I'm frightened of what this one has become. I'm sorry.'

Berry had it worked out. She was saying this because she didn't want him to go in there. If he thought she was the one who was most scared he'd maybe back-off, seek help.

No way.

He took out his car keys. 'Listen, how about you go fetch the Sprite. The gear's in back. Give me time to check things out — might not even be open.' It was only a couple of hundred yards to the cars, and there was plenty of light.

She accepted the keys reluctantly.

'Listen, any problems, just blast on the horn, OK? Bring Guto and the guys outta the pub.'

He tried out Aled's flashlight. The beam was strong and white and threw a mist into the air. He hurriedly directed it downwards, and it lit up a grave, and Bethan drew in a sharp breath.

On the gravestone was carved,

Dyma fedd Thomas Rhys…

Berry tried a shrug. 'We had to be standing by somebody's grave.'

He tried to ignore the smell, which was as if the grave had been opened.

A lot of whisky had been drunk. Alun, of Plaid, was looking at his watch. Miranda had fallen asleep on Guto's shoulder, Guto was endeavouring to give Bill Sykes a true insight into the philosophy of Welsh Nationalism, while Charlie and Ray were sharing a cold meat pie.

Gary Willis had gone to the gents, and Shirley Gillies had followed him out of the bar.

At the bar itself, the Tilley lamp had spluttered out and been replaced with a couple of candles in ashtrays.

'Quiet in here, though, tonight,' Dai said to Aled. Where are all the locals then?'

Aled shook his head, said nothing.

'Funny buggers here,' Idwal Pugh said. 'Won't share a tafarn with outsiders, see.'

'Rubbish, man,' Dai scowled. 'They have never been a town for that. I've been in here of a lunchtime, an English chap walks in and everybody in the place stops speaking Welsh immediately, out of courtesy. Very hospitable people, unusually hospitable.'

'Where are they then?' Idwal said. 'Most places, if there's a power cut, no telly—'

'They have no tellies here anyway. No reception, see.'

'Well, radio then. Not even a proper light to read a book by, what would they do but go to the pub? No, you are naive about this, Dai.'

'What I want to know,' Dai said, 'is what Bethan and at American fellow are up to.'

'Get them out,' Aled said suddenly. 'Get them all out, Dai, for Christ's sake.'

Behind him the telephone rang, and everyone looked up.

Dai said, 'Don't imagine the phone to be working in a power cut. You forget it makes no difference.'

Aled said, Y Groes pedwar, pedwar, chwech.'

'Aled, is that you?'

'Yes it is.'

'Aled, it's Gwyn Arthur from the police station. I'm ringing you myself because the roads are blocked all over the place and we've had to pull the cars off. Otherwise someone would have come out to see you.'

'Snow's bad over there, then?'

'Worst for ten years. Aled, Aber police have been on the line, and I am afraid I have bad news. Very bad news. You should sit down if you can.'

'Let's go for a walk.' Shirley said, and she grabbed Gary Willis's hand.

Gary thought. Ah, what the hell — and allowed her to pull him to the pub door.

The problem was, he was getting married in a couple of months and was trying to develop a new and disciplined attitude when faced with the sexual opportunities, which ironically, had seemed to come his way quite often since his engagement.

On the other hand, Shirley, by all accounts, knew the score. Had a husband somewhere and a very discreet, adult approach to this sort of thing. She was also considerably older than Gary, and so, he reasoned, it would be a sort of a social service on his part.

Yeh, what the hell. They stepped out into the blue and purple night.

'Isn't it just amazingly… you know, not cold.' Shirley had left her ski-jacket in the bar.

'Bit odd, really,' Gary said. 'Considering the conditions when we were coming over the mountains,'

'I quite fancy coming over the mountains,' Shirley said grabbing hold of his tie and leading him into the street like a showman with a dancing bear.

She let him go when they reached the bridge, the river burbling below. Soft snow sat lightly and inoffensively on the top of the parapet. Shirley made a snowball and threw it at Gary. It hit him on the cheek and felt like candyfloss. Gary gathered up a handful of snow and advanced on Shirley who screamed delightedly.

Gary plunged the handful of snow down the front of Shirley's blouse. 'You swine,' She cackled and pulled his hand back down. 'Now you'll have to get it all out.'

'So I will,' Gary said.

By the time they'd made their inebriated way to the far side of the bridge the blouse was off, Shirley waving it at Gary like a football supporter's scarf. Gary managed to grab a sleeve and the blouse tore neatly in half, leaving them looking down at their respective fragments and laughing helplessly.

Gary, sweating, pulled off his jacket and hung it over the bridge parapet.

They might have been on a beach in August.

Shirley unfastened her bra, took it off and twirled it around her head as she bounced off towards the woods. Gary thought she couldn't half move for her size.

'Slow down, Shirl, you'll have no energy left.'

'Ho ho,' Shirley gurgled. 'We'll see about that, baby.'

Running past the school lane, she let her skirt fall to her ankles and stepped out of it and kicked it away with the tip of a patent-leather boot.

She reached the edge of the woods and stood panting, wearing only her boots, a pair of pink briefs and a silver necklace, her back to an enormous oak tree, a ludicrous grin on her face.

Just for a moment, as he stood at the edge of the wood, fumbling with his belt, the total madness of the situation was fully apparent to Gary Willis.

He saw the oak tree, heavy with snow. He looked up at the iceberg hills, stark in the starry night. He looked across the bridge to the village, feeble glows from behind the drawn curtains of Christmas card cottages with snow on their roofs.

He looked at Shirley and saw the sweat freezing rapidly on her grinning face, the skin of her exposed body