Bron-28

Continued from Chapter 27: Bron-27 | ABCtales

“Well, if I had a pound for every bugger who said what a character he was I’d be … well, I wouldn’t be living in this dump,” said Mam, sinking into the sagging, mottled brown sofa and plonking her tea mug sharply down on the small table. She’d kicked off her high heels – what torture, hadn’t worn them for years – but was still in her black shirt and best white blouse. “Of course, you can’t SAY anything. Peidio siarad yn ddrwg – mustn’t speak ill of the dead…”

John-John and Sian nodded. Bron stared ahead, saying nothing.

The chickens had been returned to the coop. Bron and her brother had patched up the rotten woodwork a couple of days before, though Mam had taken some persuading that they’d be safe from the fox. Left to herself, they would have stayed but there was always the off-chance of people dropping round to offer their condolences and it wouldn’t have been a good look, Sian had said. Not that Mam cared. “Bunch of ghouls and hypocrites!”

Tad’s death-fall had caused a minor local media storm. A couple of reporters had already turned up on the doorstep, but Bron’s threat to unleash the bull had sent them scurrying back to their Volvo. Locals and tourists were slowing to a crawl on the Menai Bridge, gazing at the tattered remnants of the police tape and down at the spot on the shingle that Jones had made fatal contact. 

 

They drank their tea in silence for a minute.

“Well, I rue the day I fell for the charms of Dafydd Jones. He was a bad lot. That’s all I can say. A bad lot.”

“O, Mam…” said Sian. They’d re-trodden this ground man times in the past days.

“I could have had the pick of the local boys. The PICK! And I had to go for the one who ended up married to the bottle.”

“Well, it’s all water under the bridge now,” said Sian.

“And beer, and whisky, gin, the Lord knows what else!”

“Well, he’s gone to a better place now,” Sian murmured. She turned to Bron. “Any thoughts about your future plans? I mean, now that Tad’s no longer here to, to …I mean, it’d be easier for you here now.”

“I dunno. I mean, you and Mam could do with some help, I know. It’s just that …”

Mam laid her big red hand on Bron’s shoulder. “I think you should pursue your dreams. Tan Y Bryn farm will still be waiting for you when you come home. Rydyn ni'n aros yma … we’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes. You have to go out into the big wide world,” said John-John.

“Hear any more about that job at Hotpoint, Llandudno Junction?” said Sian.

“Fuck off.”

“Need to see to the cows,” said Bron. “Going upstairs to change.”

 

 

The morning after the funeral, outside Llanfairynmochnant’s tiny shop-cum-post office. Mrs Vaughan Gethin-Jones was in full flow. “SUCH a character was Dafydd. I mean, he wasn’t a saint but …”

Mam, Bron and Sian looked at each other. Mam raised her eyebrows. “Bron here’s practising to be a lesbian,” she said to try and stem the torrent of Mrs Vaughan Gethin-Jones’  Welsh.

“MAM! It’s not lesbian, it’s … well, it’s not that. I’m acting in a film. In my spare time, Mrs Jones …”

“Well … I always said you’d do something unusual, Bron.” 

 

 

“Mam,” said Bron as they walked off down the muddy street towards Tan-y-Bryn. “You shouldn’t have said that. Just remembered, it’s thespian, not lesbian.”

“Yes, I knew that. I just thought it might shut the bloody woman up for a second or two. Allow us to make a quick getaway…”

 

They walked on, out of the straggling street, onto the lane, still shining from the night’s rain.

“Mam?”

Yes Bron.”

“Actually Mam. What if it was true?”

“If what was true?”

“About …about…Being a lesbian.”

“Oh, that reminds me - Rees from Gors Uchaf – wants to borrow Bronco again. Did a good job  with his flock last season, by all accounts, got a couple entered for the Builth show…”

“MAM! Did you hear what I just said? I said I think I might be …”

“Yes, Bron. I heard you. You do whatever you want, now you’re up in Llundain. I expect you’re all up to things like that, in the big city. Anyway, you must have seen our girls jumping up on each other in the field. When Bronco’s not there…All at it.”

“Sian!” called Bron.

Her younger sister had stopped in the lane, arms half outstretched, mouth agape. She broke into a run to catch up, bending forward against the hill. “Beth henw hi, Bron? Wasser name?”

“Whose name?”

“The other woman…the one that you do.. do your lesbianing with, silly! Or do you have lots? Like a harlem …”

“You mind your fuckin’ own business, Sian Jones. Grace if you must know. Just the one.”

“Are you going get married? Can you get married? Does one of you act like, the man…. dress up in mens’ clothes?”

“SIAN!” bellowed Mam. “Leave her alone!”

“Well, if you do get married, for your wedding present, I’ll buy you one of those big plastic dildo things…”

Sian ducked to avoid Bron’s left hook. She knew it was coming.

Continued in Chapter 29: Bron-29 | ABCtales