Encounter

'I like it here - yeah, 'snice.'

Lilt of Welsh accent struggled against flatness of voice. And lost.
She'd looked at him briefly, without obvious interest. Or surprise.
Even though she started visibly when he greeted her. On the windswept
hillside, dry grass and gorse whistled, rustled. She wouldn't have
heard him as he picked his way down from the path to the ledge where
she sat gazing across the sunlit valley. And now, what she said came
after so long a delay that he wasn't certain whether she'd answered his
question. Or now, what he'd asked her. Perhaps she was sharing
reflectiveness.

He tried again.

'You mean, just here - or this?town?' He hesitated before the word
'town'. They were both looking over at it - in truth, a shell of a
place. When you'd wound your way down the estate road into the high
street far below, you found a line of shop fronts roughly shuttered
with sheets of stained chipboard. ' Sale or let' signs above them
quivered like pennants. Of an army in defeated disarray. Those still
trading - well, they limped along in low-wattage twilight, besieged and
camouflaged behind indistinguishable frontage.

'Both,' she said. 'Well, when the weather gets warm. Though never
really thought about town. It's where you live, isn't it, where what
you know is. I can see Grampa's house from here. And lorries where the
high road goes over the hills - Cardiff's somewhere over there. If
there's not much wind, you can hear the motorway, too. Bristol -
sometimes wonder what it's like there. You been?'

She was turned towards him now. Here, it was warm in the washed out sun
only between the gusts of wind. She sat in clothed in the skeleton of
school uniform - bare legs pale and gawky between short blue skirt and
black shoes with unfeasibly thick-ridged soles. One sleeve of her
blazer waved limply, not quite hidden in a backpack slumped in wiry
grass.

'Oh yes,' he said. 'Grew up there?' He left the statement hanging,
waited to see the direction she wanted to take.

'I think I'll go there when I've finished school,' she said.
'Different, isn't it? Jobs, things ? to do. And near London,
too.'

He smiled. 'Not really, no. A hundred miles. At least.'

She looked crestfallen. 'That's further even than going from here to
Bristol?'

'Yes - much.' In the silence that followed again, he prompted, ' No
school today?'

'What's it to you?' she said, sharply. A hank of dark hair blew across
her face like sudden shadows raking over the hill, other side of the
valley. He didn't answer: kept his question alive with raised eyebrows.
In an exasperated, mockingly patient voice she went on, 'I was late
getting up. I' d' ve been late getting to school. I've been late
already this week. So they make a fuss. So it's not worth it, 'cos it
does me head in. And anyway, I like it better here. You going to tell?
' she finished challengingly.

'No. Who would I tell? And I'm not ? wagman, education welfare ?
whatever they're called these days, whatever you call them here.'

She looked at him, appraising. Hooded anorak over not-very-sharp suit,
those strange comfy shoes, sort of down-at-heel but not really. And a
little beard, bit scrubby, not like Annie's brother, the oldest, who
had a ponytail as well and roared round on a big motorbike. Not like
him at all.

'No. Well you look like one. You look like some of the teachers.
Anyway, what do you do? You supposed to be at work or something?'

'Supposed. Actually, am. On my way back from meeting ...' He shrugged.
' And what do I do? I work for the Tenants' Association. Community
worker. We're trying to get some improvements for the estate, some
grants from the Welsh Assembly ?' He stopped. 'But you know about the
Association, don't you? Your mother's on the committee.' He stopped
again. ' Not seen her for a bit, though. She's ? OK is she?'

The girl shrugged. ' S'pose.' His eyebrows raised. Again. 'Yes.' And
then, ' She's had a lot of things to think about.'

He nodded understandingly. Expression she recognised vaguely: un-smiley
text face on a mobile ' phone. ' Things?'

'Well, since Grampa died ? things like that.'

' I'm sorry.'

' ' Sall right. That's four years ago. When I first started this
school. His lungs was bad. The pit. You know?'

'You miss him?'

Pause. ' Not now. 'S a long time ago. He was ill. I said.' Then, ' I
miss my dad more.' She looked up. Seemed to feel caught unawares. But
continued, ' He's not dead. He's in Neath. They shut the depot in town,
moved it to Port Talbot. He's a lorry-driver - the big ones. He said it
was too far to travel every day. Mam didn't want to move - she's never
lived anywhere else. So Dad got a room over that way.'

' See him often?'

' No. No, his girlfriend doesn't like me. And I don't like her
kids.'

Pause: ' So it's just you and your mum?'

' Not really - she's got a boyfriend herself now. That's why you've not
seen her. And,' she went on quickly, 'I hate him.' She stopped.
Checking herself. She had turned her back on him again, in the same
position he'd first seen her.

'It must seem complicated.' He realised she wouldn't see him nodding
sympathetically. He nodded anyway. ' Perhaps you need to give him a
chance?'

'No I don't. And I'm not giving him the chance!' She snapped. Then
stopped, abruptly. Realising. She stood now, anxiously scanning his
expression. ' Look, I've got to go now.' Agitated.

'OK ? me too.' Caught off guard himself, he looked elaborately at his
watch. ' I should make some 'phone calls ? paperwork ?' He shrugged,
held palms upwards: a wry dumbshow of, 'you wouldn't believe'. ' But
see you again, perhaps. If you want to talk ? ' He realised he'd not
hit the precise note intended. Wasn't sure though which side of the
quartertone, between clich? flat and pleading sharp, his voice had
edged.

'Yeah,' she said. With no enthusiasm. He watched as she scrambled down
through bushes hung with tattered bags that rattled plastic in the
wind. 'T'ra,' she called over her shoulder, not looking. He lost sight
of her. She disappeared over the bluff, towards the half-derelict
town.