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Authors: Rhys Bowen

BOOK: Evan Only Knows
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“What will you have?” Evan asked her.
Bronwen glanced around. “I better not say Perrier in a place like this or I’ll be lynched, won’t I?”
Evan smiled. “Probably.”
“In that case, half a pint of shandy. Ginger beer shandy if they’ve got it.”
“Right you are. Why don’t you find a seat while I force my way up to the bar?”
He eased his way through the crowd. He ordered the shandy
and a pint of Guinness and was just making his way back when a voice said, “It’s not Evans, is it? Stodge Evans? Well, I’ll be blowed.”
“Hello, Harry. Good to see you.” Evan’s face lit up in recognition.
Immediately he was surrounded. “What are you doing here, boyo? We heard you were working up in foreign parts, up in the primitive North.”
“That’s right. Up near Snowdon.”
“Rather you than me, boyo. Bunch of crazies up there, aren’t they? Inbred as hell.”
“Been playing any rugby up there? Or don’t they know how to play it?”
“They probably think it’s played with sheep!”
A great roar of laughter. Hands clapped Evan on the back.
“Well, drink up then, boy. There’s plenty more where that came from. Are you back for good? The scrum could use a good back row man. Davies is bloody useless.”
“I’m only here for a few days,” Evan said. “I’ve brought my … girlfriend”—somehow he couldn’t get out the word fiancée—“to show her Swansea.”
“You haven’t got yourself involved with one of those wild girls from the North, have you?”
“Oh absolutely.” Evan laughed. “Very wild. She’s sitting over there. Come and meet her.”
Several rugby players followed Evan to the corner table where Bronwen was sitting. Evan put the glass in front of her and started introductions. The first round of drinks went down quickly, and Harry offered to buy another round.
“I’ll come and help you carry them,” Evan volunteered and followed Harry through the crowd. He had almost reached the bar when someone grabbed his arm.
“Evan! It is you!” A dark-haired young woman in tight jeans and a tank top blocked his path. She was smiling up at him delightedly. “Your mum said you were coming for a visit. About bloody time, that’s what I say. I thought you’d forgotten us.”
“Hello, Maggie,” Evan said quietly. “No, I hadn’t forgotten.”
“So did you bring Blodwin, or whatever her name is?”
“It’s Bronwen and she’s sitting over there. You must come and meet her.”
“I met her once before, if it’s the same one,” Maggie said, “at that
eisteddfod
. She looked positively virginal and medieval, if I remember correctly.”
“She was wearing a cloak when you met her, if that’s what you mean,” Evan said.
“My dear, I thought she was one of the competitors at the
eisteddfod,
the way she was dressed.” Maggie laughed. “Still, I don’t suppose there’s much selection up in the wilds where you live.”
“Oh, I don’t think I could have done much better, even in the biggest city,” Evan managed to say evenly. “And I must help Harry carry the drinks if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
She grabbed at his arm again. “There’s something I wanted to say to you,” she whispered.
“I think you and I have already said pretty much all there is to say.”
“Not about us. About rugby. Are you playing at all?”
Evan shook his head. “No time really.”
“And no clubs worth playing for up there.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say …”
“I would. Which is why Stew is doing something about it. You remember Stew Jenkins, do you? Used to play for Llanelli? Played for Wales a couple of times?”
“Of course I remember him. Good fullback.”
“Well, he’s involved in professional rugby now. You know, we’ve got several premier league teams down here. Not bad money either. Steve’s thinking of starting a team up in your neck of the woods, in Bangor—if he can lure enough quality players up there. He thinks there’s enough interest to get good crowds and make it pay.”
Evan nodded. “Maybe, although they are more football fans than rugby in North Wales. Liverpool or Manchester United supporters.”
Maggie had sidled even closer to him, so that he was conscious
of the smell of her hair and the fact that her tank top revealed a good amount of cleavage. “I was telling Stevie about you. He thinks he may be able to use you, if you were interested?”
“Me?” To his great annoyance, Evan found himself blushing. “But I’ve been out of the rugby world for five years now.”
“It’s like riding a bicycle. You don’t forget.”
“Come on, Evans. What’s happened to that beer?” a voice demanded from the tight clique around Bronwen.
“Call me if you’re interested,” Maggie said as she let him pass. “You know the number.”
Evan shouldered his way through to the table and deposited the tray.
“So there you are, Stodge.” Bronwen gave him a wicked grin. “You never told me you had a nickname.”
“It came from school,” one of the other men said before Evan could answer. “He was the only one who actually liked the food. He always used to want second helpings of spotted dick and treacle pud. Hence the name Stodge.”
“And of course it did describe his girth too, didn’t it?”
“He always was a hefty lad.”
“You look like you’ve lost a little weight, old man.” Another of them prodded him in the middle.
“I’ve been cooking for myself. Best diet I know,” Evan said.
“And I’m trying to make sure he eats healthily,” Bronwen added.
“So you’re not playing any rugby at the moment?”
“Not at the moment. No.”
“You want to come and warm up with us on Saturday? We’re doing preseason conditioning.”
“Thanks, but I won’t be here on Saturday. Bronwen and I are going to visit her parents tomorrow.”
“Visit the parents? Oooh, that sounds serious.”
Evan could feel Bronwen looking at him, waiting for him to say something.
“We’re planning to get married some time soon,” he said and saw the appreciation in her eyes.
“Oh dear. Stodge is taking the plunge. Well, drink up, boys. That calls for another round.”
It was late when they finally came out into the darkened street and stood in the halo of a street lamp while Evan located his keys.
“I hope that wasn’t too much of an ordeal for you,” he said, opening the door for her.
Bronwen gave him a dazzling smile as she climbed in. “Not at all. I found it very educational—Stodge.”
He decided to say nothing about his talk with Maggie. There was no point.
When they got home they found Mrs. Evans sitting in the living room, watching TV.
“Had a nice evening, did you? That’s good,” she said mechanically. She got up. “Well, I think I’ll go to bed now, then, if you don’t mind. Help yourselves to cocoa.”
“We shouldn’t have gone out and left her, Evan,” Bronwen whispered as they heard footsteps going up the stairs. “Did you notice she had been crying?”
Evan nodded. “You’re right. I feel terrible. I thought taking her out might cheer her up, but I don’t think she’s ever going to get over my dad. I don’t know what to do, Bronwen.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Bronwen said. “Unless you want to bring her to live with us when we have a house.”
“It’s noble of you to volunteer, but I don’t think she’d come. As I said, she’s very set in her ways—always was and it’s worse now. Her routine is all she’s got to hang on to.” He glanced up the stairs. “I think I’ll make her a cup of cocoa and take it up to her. It’s no good trying to get her to talk, because she keeps very much to herself, but I should let her know that I’m there if she needs me.”
A few minutes later, Evan knocked and pushed open his mother’s bedroom door.
“I thought you might like a cup of hot milk to help you sleep,” he said. “I’ve put a little brandy in it.”
Mrs. Evans was still sitting, fully dressed, on the edge of her bed,
staring out of the window. “Thank you. You’re a good boy, Evan,” she said. As he went to leave the room she turned to him. “They will get him this time, won’t they? You will make sure they put him away this time.”
The next morning dawned amazingly warm and balmy. They had planned to drive to Bronwen’s house that evening but had a whole day ahead of them. Evan wanted to do something for his mother and suggested taking a picnic to the seashore. Mrs. Evans didn’t show the enthusiasm he had hoped for.
“The beach on a day like this? You must be out of your mind. All the beaches will be crawling with holidaymakers. English people, most of them.”
“We can pack a picnic and go for a drive anyway,” Evan said. “We’ll keep going until we find a secluded spot. Come on, Ma. It will do you good to go out for a drive.”
“I don’t know why people like picnics,” Mrs. Evans grumbled. “All ants and sand in the sandwiches.” Still she insisted on making a huge pile of food for Evan to load into the car. They set off along the seafront down the Oystermouth Road in the direction of the Gower Peninsula.
“This is the wealthy part of town,” Evan commented. “A lot of boys from my school used to live out here.”
“Ashleigh Drive,” Mrs. Evans said suddenly as they passed an area of large homes. “Wasn’t that where Tony Mancini murdered that poor girl? I’m sure it was.”
Evan glanced up at the big houses behind walls and hedges. “I
wonder what made him come out here?” he asked himself out loud.
“Probably planning a bit of burglary, I shouldn’t be surprised,” his mother said. “Always up to no good, since he was a little boy.”
Evan gave the road a second glance as they drove past. Why Alison Turnbull? he found himself wondering.
They stopped in the village of Oystermouth at the far end of the seafront drive. “We have to show Bronwen the old Mumbles pier,” Evan said.
“Whatever for? Ugly, rusty old thing.”
“Ma, it’s a local landmark.” Evan laughed. “And remember how Dad used to take me there fishing?”
“Not that you ever caught anything,” Mrs. Evans said, chuckling. “I’ll wait for you in the car then.”
“Oh, come with us, Mrs. Evans,” Bronwen insisted. “A little walk will do you good.”
“No benches in sight and I’m not walking that far. Go on. Off you go. I’ll be all right here.”
“You see it’s not easy,” Evan said as they set off. “Come on then.” The promenade along the seafront was crowded with holiday-makers. They joined the crowd, negotiating the families pushing prams, old people trailing dogs, and children trailing candy floss.
“Did you know that the oldest passenger railway in the world used to run here,” Evan said. “They closed it before I was born.”
“I remember reading about it in my history books.” Bronwen looked around with pleasure. “You wouldn’t think this was only five miles from the city, would you? You must have come here a lot when you were young.”
“Yes, but don’t mention it to my mother. I was forbidden to come here, but my friends and I were always riding our bikes out here in summer for a quick swim. I was also forbidden to swim alone, so I had to dry my trunks by hanging them from the back of my bike.”
“Quite a little rebel,” Bronwen said.
Once past the village of Oystermouth, the path narrowed between steep sandy cliffs on one side and a stoney beach on the other. When they finally reached the pier, it had a derelict look to it and
a sign out in front saying, SORRY, NO DOGS. SORRY NO BICYCLES.
SORRY NO PICNICS.
“Miserable lot,” Bronwen commented. “I don’t think we should pay fifty pence to go on it, then, do you?” She slipped her arm through Evan’s. “You’re extra quiet today. Was it going to court yesterday that has upset you?”
Evan nodded. “I suppose it is. The whole thing has made me very uneasy. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“It was bound to upset you,” Bronwen said. “But the police sound pretty confident they’ll put him away this time, don’t they?”
“Yes. Yes they do.” Evan blinked his eyes to shut out an image that wouldn’t go away.
They turned around and headed back to the car.
“Oh look.” Bronwen suddenly grabbed Evan’s hand and dragged him across the street. “There’s a shop that makes love spoons. We have to take a look.”
“We shouldn’t leave Mum alone for too long,” Evan said as he allowed himself to be dragged into the shop. “Is this a hint you’d like me to buy you a love spoon? I thought an engagement ring was what you wanted. You’d find a spoon harder to put on your finger.”
“Silly.” Bronwen laughed. “No, I just wanted to take a look. I think this was such a romantic idea—carving a spoon in secret to show your love? That is true devotion, don’t you think?”
They examined the intricately carved spoons, noting that the price on the best of them came close to that of a ring.
After that the day went downhill. The beaches around the Gower Peninsula were all so full of holidaymakers that parking was impossible.
“I warned you, didn’t I?” Mrs. Evans said triumphantly. “Packed in like sardines, they are.”
In the end they ate their sandwiches in a pub car park and drove home again. On the way home, again they passed the street that led to the Turnbull home. Evan tried to relax and join in the conversation that Bronwen was trying to hold with his mother, but he couldn’t take his mind off Tony Mancini. When his mother indicated
that she had to do some shopping and Bronwen offered to go with her, he took this as his cue and drove to the police station.
The new station was exactly as his mother had described — panels of bottle glass and purple tiles that made it look more like a swimming pool or a recreation center. He managed to park in an alley nearby. He spoke to a receptionist through a microphone in a glass wall and asked for Sergeant Howells. He was told to wait. It was stiflingly hot in that glass-fronted holding area. Obviously the designers of the new police station hadn’t considered heat waves in their planning and hadn’t installed air-conditioning. He had almost decided to give up and go home when Bill’s head popped around the door.
“Hello, Evan. This is a surprise. I thought you were off.”
“We are. We’re going to Bronwen’s parents later this afternoon, but I had a couple of questions, if you’ve got a minute.”
“Well, come on in,” Sergeant Howells said, waving him through the door. “I’m just about to take a break and go for a coffee. Want to come?”
“Thanks.”
“So what’s the problem?” Sergeant Howells asked as they left the station together and crossed the street to a café.
“It was being in court with Tony Mancini,” Evan said. “I found it very unsettling. I was wondering—I know you’re not on the official team for this case, but they do have enough evidence to prove that he did it, don’t they?”
“Don’t worry yourself about that. As luck would have it, one of our blokes picked up the kid on the Oystermouth Road, only a few steps from the house, right about the time the medical examiner says she was killed. Our bloke recognized him, of course, and stopped to question him. He says the kid seemed flustered and couldn’t give a good reason for being out there. I mean, what good reason would someone like Tony Mancini have for hanging around a posh area like that? He tried to say that Alison Turnbull was a mate of his, but we weren’t buying it. That girl was treated like a china doll—wrapped in cotton wool all her life. Posh boarding school, riding lessons, never let out of their sight. So I don’t know
where Tony Mancini thought he might have met her. Then you add to that the motive—old man Turnbull sacked him because he caught him helping himself to the petty cash.” He gave Evan a reassuring grin. “Don’t you worry, old son. We’ve got him this time.”
��
Later that afternoon Evan and Bronwen loaded up the car and got ready to leave Swansea.
“It wasn’t much of a visit, was it?” Evan’s mother said in a pained voice. “Here today, gone tomorrow.”
“We can drop in on the way back, if you like,” Evan found himself promising. “I know you don’t like your routine being upset.”
“Routine? Anyone would think I was an old fogie.” Mrs. Evans sniffed as Evan tried to maneuver the lamb’s crate onto the backseat. “And I don’t know why you had to keep that poor lamb shut away all the time. It wasn’t as if he was any trouble. Good as gold if you ask me, poor little thing.”
“It’s never easy,” Evan said as they drove away. “It’s always a little like walking on eggshells. I bet it will be a relief to get to your parents’ house.”
“Maybe,” Bronwen said hesitantly.
“You don’t think they’ll take to me? Is that it?”
“Oh no. They’ll make you feel very welcome. They are great at hospitality. They’re really very nice people. Just a little—over-whelming. Best taken in small doses, I always think.”
It was five o’clock when they left the motorway at Newport and drove on a smaller road toward Monmouth. They were in a green valley, dotted with peaceful farms. The fields had fat cows in them, and willows marked the banks of a meandering stream. Gentle hills rose on either side.
“Here we are,” Bronwen directed. “Turn left here.”
A narrow road crossed the river by a humpbacked bridge. They passed between brick gateposts and continued up a long gravel drive with spacious lawns on either side. A large house came into view, gracious but relatively modern redbrick. It had bay windows, and a conservatory had been built on one side.
“Where is everybody?” Bronwen commented as they stopped and opened the car doors.
As if in answer there was the sound of a fast-approaching vehicle. A sleek, racing green Jaguar came to a screeching halt, and a woman jumped out. She was also sleek—slim, wearing tailored slacks, an open-necked sage green shirt, and with neat, short-cropped graying blond hair.
“How terrible, darlings, you almost beat me to it,” she called, running across to them. “We didn’t think you’d get here until almost six. The traffic around Newport is beastly these days. So I thought I had time to pop into the village. Mrs. Todd forgot to pick up endive for the starter.” She pronounced it
ahndeeve,
the French way. “And I don’t know where Alan can have got to. I told him to be on the lookout for you, but you know he never listens to a thing I say. I bet he’s playing with those horrible animals again. Did I tell you he’s started a farm of all things? At his age, and with such poor timing too. We heard about the foot-and-mouth outbreak the day he brought home the last of his rams.” She had reached them by this point and gave Bronwen a kiss on both cheeks. “But no matter, you’re here now, and it’s so lovely to see you. We’ve been positively dying for you to come. And you must be Evan. How lovely.” She gave him the same treatment—a brushing kiss on both cheeks. “Well, don’t stand there. Do come in. You must be dying for something to drink. It’s so hot today, isn’t it? I thought we’d have a bowl of Pimm’s on the back lawn, unless of course you’d prefer tea; but I always think tea makes one so hot, although Alan, of course, claims that it’s the reverse, and his family always drank tea in India to keep them cool, which is utter nonsense to me.”
Bronwen gave Evan an I-told-you-so glance as her mother put an arm around both of them and shepherded them toward the house. Evan realized that neither of them had been allowed to say a word so far.
“We really ought not to leave Prince William in the car on a day like this,” Evan dared to interrupt the monologue.
“Prince William?” Bronwen’s mother looked amused. “Who have you got in there?” She peered into the backseat and saw the crate. “Oh, have you brought a pet with you?”
“It’s a lamb, Mummy,” Bronwen said. “I’m looking after it for one of the little girls in my school. He’s awfully sweet and no trouble. I thought perhaps we could find somewhere to put him … .”
Bronwen’s mother had already opened the rear door. “Of course we can. How absolutely adorable. Let’s put him in the shade for now, and then we can think about it.”
Evan extracted the crate from the car and left it in a deep pool of shade under a large tree.
“Let’s have some refreshment before we get any of your luggage out,” Mrs. Price suggested. “It’s too hot to do anything today, isn’t it? It reminds me of the time we were in Saudi. Unnaturally warm for Wales. My dears, I think the world climate is changing, don’t you? I’ll have to throw away my fur coats if this keeps up much longer.”

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