The Lost Days of Summer (26 page)

Nell sat very still, with the sun burning the back of her neck and the sweet scent of warm grass coming to her from the nearby meadow. She remembered the stories that the fat old Irishwoman in the train had told her, and the shimmering veil which had seemed to form about the Swtan when the old woman had popped her head out of the doorway. When she thought about it, there was something mysterious about the island, and if she wanted to understand she would have to listen to what Hywel had to say, and take it seriously, what was more. ‘Yes, I’ll be open-minded, and I promise I won’t scoff because I agree the island has a sort of magic,’ Nell said at last. ‘Fire ahead!’

Hywel looked down at his strong, square hands, clasped about one blue-uniformed knee, and when he spoke it was slowly and thoughtfully. ‘I’ve lived in the village above the bay all my life, first with my parents and then my grandparents. My da and taid were fishermen. I won’t go into details, but my mother died when I was two, and my father was lost at sea when the
Sea Sprite
went down in Dublin Bay with the loss of all hands. There was a terrible storm, the worst storm of the century; the fishermen still talk about it today. I was four then and remember the occasion perfectly.’ He looked at Nell from under his thick, black lashes. ‘You see, I knew my father had died before the news of the loss of the
Sea Sprite
reached us.’

He met Nell’s eyes, clearly expecting her to make some disbelieving remark, but she said nothing, simply returning his look, so he began to speak once more. ‘I’d been down on the beach that afternoon, digging for cockles, because Gran had promised me that if I got a whole bucketful we would have them with bread and butter for our tea, and when they were all eaten up I should have a chocolate biscuit. It may not sound much to you—’

‘No, it’s all right, I understand,’ Nell put in quickly. ‘I don’t suppose you had many sweets, living so far from the village. Go on; what happened next?’

‘Well, as I said I was digging for cockles and dropping each one into the old tin bucket with a most satisfying
clunk
. I never noticed the sky clouding over, never thought about the weather at all until the rain began to drive into my face. Then I looked at the sea, which had been blue, with tiny white-crested waves lapping at the shore, and it had turned grey as charcoal and the little waves had become huge, threatening rollers, charging up the beach as though they meant to reach the cliffs and beyond.

‘I was scared, then. I grabbed my bucket and made for the little path which winds up the cliff and began to climb. When I reached the top I stopped for a moment and looked out to sea, for the thunder was rolling and the lightning jabbing at the water and dancing along its surface, rough though it was. It was a weird and terrible sight, and though I was still very frightened I couldn’t tear myself away. And then, in my mind’s eye, I saw my father’s trawler suspended above the sea and outlined with a blue light. The
Sprite
wasn’t really there, you understand; she was miles away, so I suppose it was what they call an illusion. But even as I stared, I saw a huge wave break over her, saw her turning turtle before my very eyes.’

Nell leaned forward, knowing her mouth was an O of astonishment. She saw how pale he had gone, and knew that whether she believed his story or not he believed it absolutely himself, had no doubt that what he had seen had been the death of the good ship
Sprite
. ‘Go on,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You poor thing, though! What did your grandparents say when you got back to the village?’

‘Not a great deal, because by then I was running a fever and barely managed to tell my story before Nain had me wrapped in blankets and drinking some fever cure she’d invented. And when I kept repeating that the trawler had gone down and my da with it, she soothed me and said I was imagining things and should not talk about it. She stayed with me until I fell asleep, and by the time I woke she knew that I had been speaking the truth. The
Sprite
had indeed foundered, and all her crew were dead.’

‘Gosh!’ Nell said inadequately. ‘What has this got to do with my seeing that dog, though?’

Hywel sighed. ‘Might as well not have told you a thing,’ he said resignedly. ‘The old feller who lives in the Swtan doesn’t have a dog. So once again, little unbeliever, your black and white border collie was not actually a living dog, but something – oh, something which happened in the past. That dog was probably owned by someone’s great-great-grandfather, and what you saw wasn’t real, but a – a sort of picture, left over from the past.’ He must have seen her puzzlement, because he took her hand, wagging it up and down to emphasise what he was saying. ‘I
told
you it was hard to understand! Some people believe they can see into the future, but you and myself, Miss Doubting Thomas, can see into the past. Oh, not always and not often, just occasionally. Can you understand?’

‘Not really,’ Nell said honestly. ‘But I do believe you, because I take your word for it that there isn’t a black and white collie, though I definitely saw one. And I’m pretty sure I caught a glimpse of an old man in working clothes, but when I thought I saw an old woman standing in the doorway . . . well, there was this dazzle for a moment, as though the sun was in my eyes, which it was not, and when it cleared the woman had gone. Have you ever heard of second sight? It sounds a bit like that.’

Hywel leaned back with a contented sigh. ‘Thank the good Lord you didn’t scoff,’ he said devoutly. ‘And yes, I suppose it is what they call second sight, but I’ve always thought of it as a sort of glimpse of something which happened long ago. I told Bryn about seeing the shipwreck years later, but Bryn is very down to earth and just laughed at me, so I’ve never told him about the other odd things I’ve seen. What would have been the use? But how I’ll crow over him when I tell him you never doubted my story of the shipwreck for one moment!’

Nell stared at her companion. ‘Is he back on the island?’ she asked. ‘I visited him when he was in hospital, but I’ve heard nothing since. They were sending him to a convalescent place in Blackpool . . .’

‘So far as I know he’s still on the mainland,’ Hywel admitted. ‘But we’re not as close as we were. The idiot joined the Navy, when he could have done as I did, and got a posting to RAF Valley. We fell out, so now the position of best friend is vacant. Any takers?’ Nell snorted but did not answer and Hywel slid off the wall and went over to his bicycle. ‘Well, I suppose you don’t know me well enough to realise what a splendid offer I’ve just made you, so we’d better be getting back to the village. You know how folk in villages talk; I don’t want to hear anyone say I’d stole my best pal’s girl whilst he was out of the way.’

‘You said he wasn’t your bezzie any longer. And besides, I’m not anyone’s girl,’ Nell said indignantly.

Hywel shrugged. ‘Oh well, if that’s how you feel . . . and now let’s talk about something different. Tell me how you like living at Ty Hen.’

‘Oh, I love it,’ Nell said eagerly. ‘I don’t miss Liverpool at all – or not the city itself, at any rate. What I miss most is people of my own age.’

‘There’s a fair number of people your age in Llanfwrog,’ Hywel pointed out. ‘But I’ll grant you the girls are a silly lot. And the girls in my village aren’t much better. They say the Swtan’s haunted and steer clear of it, though of course they’re all very eager to visit the well. When I saw you there, I did wonder if you’d been listening to gossip, but then I realised that if you had, you wouldn’t have come calling at midday, with the sun cracking the paving stones the way it was.’

‘Why not?’ Nell said at once. She was trying to recall the details of the dream she had had beside the well, but they refused to be remembered, so she gave it up and turned to her companion once more. ‘What difference does it make if you visit a well at noon or midnight?’

‘None, of course,’ Hywel said. ‘But it’s plain you’ve not been told that the Swtan well has magical powers! It’s all nonsense, of course, but the girls believe that if you sleep in the shadow of the well on the night of the full moon, then you’ll dream of the man you’re going to marry.’

Nell chortled. ‘Do they believe it? Aren’t girls daft!’

Hywel laughed too. ‘I don’t know if they believe it or not, but to the best of my knowledge no one has actually put it to the test. Which is a good thing, since the old feller don’t want giggling girls queuing up to sleep in the moon’s shadow and shrieking the place down if an owl hoots or a fox barks.’

So there really was an old man living in the cottage, Nell thought. Now, however, remembering how frightened she had been at first every time an owl hooted or a fox barked, she cleared her throat. ‘But you said earlier that they thought the Swtan was haunted; wouldn’t that be enough to put them off?’

‘Probably. But in fact it’s a common superstition – that you dream of the man you’re going to marry if you sleep at a particular spot on the night of the full moon,’ Hywel assured her. ‘Anglesey is full of such superstitions. One well on the other side of the island has a similar belief attached to it. They say that if you bend over the well on the night of the full moon you will see, appearing over the shoulder of your reflection, either the man you’re going to marry or a skull. If you see the skull, it means you’ll die unwed.’

Nell shuddered. ‘Who would want to know the future so badly that they’d risk a heart attack, which is what I’d have if I saw a perishin’ skull peeping over my shoulder?’ she asked. ‘The old man ought to invent a skeleton of his own; that would keep the girls away.’

By this time they were re-entering the village and Hywel produced his list and scanned it, frowning. ‘I’ve already got the bread,’ he said, indicating the large loaves in his bicycle basket. ‘We grow most of our own vegetables, but fruit trees don’t do well because of the strong winds, so Nain said to buy some apples for a pie and some dried fruit so she can bake bara brith.’ He looked at Nell, raising an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been to the post office. What else does Mrs Kath want?’

‘Porridge oats and flour,’ Nell said briefly. ‘Like you, we grow most of our own vegetables, but Auntie Kath wants a packet of mixed spices.’ She cast her companion a rueful glance. ‘Thank God spices come in little light packets, because the flour and oats are a month’s supply and weigh a ton.’

‘Tell you what, we’ll walk some of the way home together,’ Hywel said. ‘We’ll meet back here in ten minutes; is that okay with you?’

Nell agreed that it was, and was doubly grateful when she re-joined Hywel to find him taking her heavy bag and resting it on the bicycle’s carrier. Her attempts to take the bag back were half-hearted, particularly when Hywel pointed out that it was the bicycle and not himself doing all the work. Before they had gone more than a few yards, however, she asked the question uppermost in her mind. ‘Are you part of a very large family, Hywel? You said your parents were dead . . .’

Hywel laughed. ‘There’s only me and Nain in our little house; Taid died two years ago,’ he told her. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Well, you’ve bought an awful lot of bread for two people,’ Nell said, indicating the loaves. ‘Most islanders bake their own bread; my aunt Kath certainly does. That’s why she wants such quantities of flour.’

Hywel grinned. ‘I shall have to call you Miss Sherlock Holmes,’ he said mockingly. ‘But you’re right, of course; Nain bakes her own bread.’ He jerked a thumb at the basket. ‘These are for the old feller – Toddy, we call him – who moved into the Swtan a couple of months ago. He’s pretty self-sufficient, but when I come into the village I do his shopping. As a rule, he bakes soda bread, because that doesn’t need yeast, or proving, but it’s a treat for him to have proper bread from time to time.’

‘I see,’ Nell said slowly. ‘So who is this Toddy? And where does he get the money from to buy real bread?’

Hywel grinned. ‘He has a pension from the last war, I believe, and sells fish when he’s had a good catch, and crabs and lobsters, of course. That’s about all I know, because he keeps himself to himself. He doesn’t encourage visitors; he wouldn’t be rude, but I believe if he sees someone approaching he simply shuts himself into the longhouse or makes off either down to the beach or over the hills. A shy sort of feller is Toddy.’

‘Does he know the Swtan belongs to Auntie Kath?’ Nell asked rather breathlessly. She was having to hurry to keep up with Hywel’s longer legs. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t grudge him the use of it, but I suppose he really should be paying her rent of some sort.’

Hywel shrugged. ‘Of course he knows your aunt owns it,’ he said. ‘If she wants rent from him, I’m sure she only has to say.’ He gave Nell a challenging look, his dark eyes, which had been warm and friendly, suddenly cool. ‘From what I’ve heard, your aunt does pretty well without having to take money from someone who has scarcely any. And besides, if she wants rent, then she’d have to make good the thatch and do all the repairs that Toddy hasn’t yet tackled.’

Nell felt the colour flame in her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, I spoke without thinking,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m sure my aunt would say old Toddy could have it and welcome. Bryn told me before Christmas that even the mention of the Swtan makes her cross, but we don’t know why.’

By this time they were in the lane which led to Ty Hen. Hywel smiled at her and reached out a hand to pat her flushed cheek. ‘It’s all right, I’m sure you won’t tell on the old feller,’ he said. ‘I know your aunt, of course, but she’s another one who keeps herself to herself, and she has the reputation of being a hard case. I remember when I was a lad and she first came into Ty Hen, folk didn’t want to work for her, but it seems she really looked after her employees and managed to win almost everyone over. Now she’s highly regarded, even though they say she’s sharp-tongued and stands no nonsense from anyone.’

‘She is rather sharp-tongued,’ Nell admitted. ‘But she’s extremely kind, you know. None of her workers pay rent for their cottages, not even when they retire, and she pays a higher hourly rate than anyone else on the island. Well, you should know that, since you’re such big friends with Bryn. Eifion – his taid, I mean – wouldn’t work for anyone else and says it’s worth being ordered about by a woman when she’s as generous and knowledgeable as my aunt.’