Bron-41

Continued from Chapter 40: Bron-40 | ABCtales

“Well, you’re in the right place if you want to hear Welsh spoken,” Bron said to Grace. They were in the bar of the Black Boy in Caernarfon; John-John had dropped them off at the bus stop in Menai Bridge on the way to see his Maesgeirchen woman.

Grace listened hard, trying to sift out recognisable sounds from the hubbub.

The door burst open; the newcomer, a young bleached-blond guy was greeted with cries of ‘Iawn gont!’ from the assembled multitude.

“What’s that mean? What they saying?”

“Er, they’re saying, ‘Hello, cunt’.”

“Hello cunt? You sure?”

“Yes. They all they that round here. It’s a Caernarfon thing.”

“Not very…politically correct round here, are they? I mean, look what this pub’s called.”

“Might be a different sort of boy. Like the sort you get in the sea. Or maybe a knight or something. No one knows.”

“I see. Interesting. Any other Caernarfon expressions?”

“They say ‘ti’ different; chdi or something. ‘Be’cont’ – means ‘What’s doin’?’

“That word again. You seem to like it a lot up here.”

“Yeah, I know. We’re not really very mannerly here in North Wales, are we?”

“Mannerly?”

“Yeah, like, we’re quite…rough. You know? Like you say, not very correct. Not always, anyway.”

“No different from anywhere else, I suppose. I mean, back in Berkshire, some places can be rough.”

“Like where?”

“I dunno, Reading, Bracknell...”

“But that’s just a couple places. You know, I’ve been thinking – when we get back to London, perhaps I should go to one of those schools. Learn to be a bit more…mannerly.”

“What, like a finishing school? Do they even still have those?”

“Search me. But don’t you think, it could be an idea?”

“Bron! I like you as you are! I mean, you are what you are. You could only ever have come from this place – it’s what made you…”

“But I could change myself if I wanted to. Just like I was supposed to change my accent so I could be that American pilot woman.”

“I don’t WANT you to change – not forever. It’s a bit like my Grandad was to suddenly start talking like a rapper…”

“Could be interesting.”

“Maybe – but it would be disturbing. It’d mean that Grandad had somehow turned into someone else, a twenty-year old kid from Brooklyn or something. He wouldn’t be him any more … Bron, why are you crooking your little finger like that? Stop it!”

“Sorry. I guess I’m probably too far gone to be lady material.”

“Bron – if you do want to do courses and things, there’s one thing you could consider.”

“Like what?”

“Anger management. An anger management course.”

“Why would I need to do that?”

“Your reactions – they can be quite…extreme. Like the night before last with your sister…”

“Little bitch was asking for it. Deserved all she got.”

“What if that hay-bale hadn’t been there? You could have broken her arm or leg, at the least. Would she have deserved that?”

“Probably.”

“Yes, I know she can be nosy and a bit of a pest. But she’s your sister. Blood is thicker than water and all that.”

“We’ll find out next time she tries something. She’ll bleed alright.”

“Bron! See what I mean? You need an anger management course.”

“Listen Grace, for the last time, I do NOT need anger MANAGEMENT!” The lads at the bar had stopped their banter, their attention focused on the row. Grace dissolved into giggles, her afro quivering. “Oh Bron, you can be so FUNNY sometimes! You DO have a sense of humour, after all!”

“Who says I haven’t a sense of humour? You been talking to Mam? Or that little pest?”

“Oh Bron. That was so good! I’m NOT going on no ANGER MANAGEMENT course!”

“Well, I’m not. What’s funny about that?”

“Oh Bron … You really didn’t get it, did you?”

“Get what?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s not important…”

 

 

On the bus heading back to Llanfair, Bron chuckled, sharply. “I’ve just seen it. You telling me to do an anger management course, and me losing my rag with you.”

“Oh Bron! You saw the joke! Finally!”

“Comedy gold.”

To be continued in Chapter 42