Torchwood First Born (4 page)

Still speechless, I stared at Sasha. I reached forward, retucking the blanket. There was nothing wrong with the way that Sasha had done it, but I had to do it again for myself. I could sense the blood warming my face. I was just so angry and scared. I grabbed the pram and wheeled it around, striding back home.

Sasha didn't say anything, just watched me go.

I walked back up the hill, still furious with myself.

A kid cycled past me - whose was it? A dark-haired teenager. All the kids in this village had lovely dark hair, the love children of The Beatles. Celtic pride. I guess it was a North Wales thing. All the children looked racehorse-handsome - or at least, they would do when they were a bit older. Another bicycle whizzed past - at first I thought it was the same kid, but then I realised it was a different colour of bike. Same hair, same school uniform. Rhys had come back from a walk one day and announced that all the kids here looked like brothers. I guess that's what happens in a small village. As I passed the stink thistles, a couple more bikes followed me up the hill at a distance. Like crows.

I didn't care. I just wanted to get Anwen and me back inside and shut out the world.

A couple of hours later, there was a knock at the caravan door. It took me a while to answer it - it's cumbersome getting up and going anywhere these days. The knock was repeated.

Davydd was stood outside, shifting from left foot to right foot, from right foot to left foot. He looked stricken. I didn't want this. I really didn't want this.

Not now. Actually, not ever.

'Yeah?' I said.

'It's about Sasha,' he said, hideously awkward.

'I guessed,' I said. Truth to tell, the last thing I wanted a chat about. I was furious with her, but also cross with myself. I told myself that nice, normal, properly slept Gwen Cooper would have handled it better.

'Can I come in?' His tone was definitely 'Can I stroke the kitten?'

I pushed the door a bit wider. 'Sure, come on in.

Rhys will be back any minute.'

He stepped in, stamping his feet, shaking off his shoes and generally hovering. He looked guilty and nervous. In my police days he would have been a dead ringer for the chief suspect's best friend who'd turn up at the station to say 'What it is, see, is...'

I put the kettle on to boil. This involved sticking one of those camping kettles on the feeble gas hob and waiting for it to defy the laws of physics and shriek like a hen-night. Of course, if you let it get that far it would invariably wake Anwen up, and I wanted her asleep for this. Between the two of us, we'd managed almost an entire hour without a feed or a murmur. How I longed for the day when I'd be able to plonk her in front of CBeebies while I had a nap. I tiptoed over the cold lino and reached down a couple of mugs and ferreted around for the coffee.

So, too much caffeine was bad when breastfeeding, was it? Great. Thanks. How was I supposed to cope for a fortnight until someone said that actually not enough caffeine was bad for breastfeeding? I damned them all, spooned three heaps of instant into my mug and turned to confront Davydd. He really was just a chinless boy with a big nose and a whiff of cheap deodorant, nervously fingering the gold chain around his neck. There was the tiniest fuzz of chest hair poking through the top of his white running top.

Bless.

'So,' I breezed. Say hello, boys and girls, to Gwen Cooper's best Witness Interview Smile.

'Yeah...' He nodded, cupping his mug like a teddy bear and tracing his fingers over and over the rustic wheatsheaf pattern. 'Look, Gwen, I'm really sorry about Sasha. She's in bits about what happened.'

'What did happen, exactly?' I said, carefully, trying to win him over to my side. 'Cos, I'm not being funny, but she came across as... well, you just can't go around holding other people's kids.'

'I know,' sighed Davydd. 'Listen, what it is, see...'

Bingo.
'It's... Well, she can't have kids.' He spread his arms out.

'Right,' I said. Instant sympathy. I mean, that was awful.

'We tried.' His voice was a flat whisper, all the pain ironed out of it. 'We tried so hard. Everything. She even got pregnant a couple of times, but it didn't...

carry through, if you know what I mean.' His hands gripped the mug real tight.

'I'm sorry,' I said without thinking. 'It must have been—'

'It was bloody horrible,' he groaned, shaking his head. 'Bloody horrible. She got so excited, both times, but I just knew... I knew it was no good. But I couldn't say.' His milk-pale face looked up at me, the bags under his eyes red. He looked so young. So young for all this. 'There are some things you just can't talk about, can you?'

'No,' I said, quietly.

'So, anyway... you know... we've... well, we've taken a kid in now. And she's happy. Sasha is happy.

She loves Brian. Really she does. Next best thing.

Lovely bright lad.' Davydd's fingers ran through his close-cropped, gelled hair. He was nervous. 'But...

but it's not the same, is it? I mean, fine by me... but not by Sasha. You know. No other young mums in the village, so she's not going to be reminded of it.

But then you turn up... Well, she can't help but see how perfect your little one is.' He smiled, a lovely, radiant little smile. 'She's gorgeous, isn't she?'

'Yes,' I agreed. Anwen stirred and gurgled quietly in her sleep. I stroked her softly and wondered what she was dreaming about.

'You're so lucky,' sighed Davydd, looking at the baby and then at me. 'You've got it all. Sasha's just...

She can't be like you.' His face lit up with street-preacher zeal. 'Oh! It's so wonderful what you're doing.'

'No, no, it's not, it's rubbish,' I assured him, pushing the hair from my face. 'I am beyond tired, I'm sore in all the wrong places, and my brain is mush.

But it's just what I have to do for my daughter. I would do anything for her.'

Davydd's smile widened. 'You're very special,' he said, putting his mug down. 'Oh Gwen, I think you're so special.'

Then he kissed me.

Rhys

So, got back from the garage to find my wife snogging another bloke.

It was the sound of pasties hitting the floor that alerted them. Gwen's eyes were already 200 per cent wide when I walked in, but they stretched that little bit further. The bloke, that scrawny Davydd runt from the village, was up and leaping about like a startled whippet.

'Rhys!' cried Gwen.

'Later!' I snapped, and landed one on Davydd.

He dropped back across the sofa. Result. 'Actually,'

I breathed, 'that was easier than I thought it would be. So let's talk now.'

'Don't wake the baby!' Gwen hissed. Always thinking of the baby. She stood awkwardly, wiping the back of her hand across her lips. 'Rhys! It's not what it looks like - well, OK, it's exactly what it looks like. But he just lunged at me! I didn't kiss back! Really, honestly, I didn't. He just kind of fell on me, just before you came through the door and...

well, my reactions aren't what they were.'

'Neither's your sex drive, love,' I muttered bitterly.

'Hey!' she snapped, and I knew from how angry she was that she was utterly innocent. 'When he comes to, he'll tell you. One moment he was talking about how he and Sasha couldn't have kids and the next he lunged. Honest! I was really surprised.'

'And delighted!' I bellowed.

'Don't wake the baby,' repeated Gwen fiercely.

She reached out to me, and I stepped back. 'Oh, come on, love,' she said. She was Reasoning With Me. I've always hated it when she does that. It means she's about to win using Logic. I hate you, Logic. 'Listen...

Look at him. Skinny streak of piss in a shell suit!

Rhys, you're almost old enough to be his dad. Do you really think... I mean, if I was going to cheat on you... which I never would... well, it wouldn't be with someone like that, would it, now?' And she looked at me, and her eyes were ever so wide and bright. 'Come on.'

'How did he kiss?' I asked.

She blinked, and then grinned. 'Bless him. It was like being rubbed by a hankie soaked in granny spit.'

I punched her lightly on the shoulder. She punched me back. We hugged.

We OK?' she said, not letting me go. We walked around like contestants in a three-legged race. 'Are we OK?'

'Until I come home and find him naked on top of you. I'd love to hear your explanation for that one.'

'Oh, it'll be really good,' Gwen assured me seriously. 'And you'll buy it.'

'Sure I will,' I said, stroking her hair.

Gwen kicked out a foot. Davydd groaned. 'Oi, lover boy,' she said. 'You can stop pretending to be asleep. You need to get up and apologise.'

Davydd stood, looking tiny and scared. 'I'm sorry, mate,' he said. 'Mate' was an odd choice of word in the circumstances, but he went there, OK. 'I'm sorry

- but she's... she's wonderful.'

'Go home,' I said.

The door shut behind him with a rubber clunk.

'This is an odd place,' I said to Gwen.

She narrowed her eyes. 'Because a man finds me irresistibly attractive?'

'No,' I said, seriously. 'It's not that.'

Truth to tell a couple of other odd things happened later that week. I steered clear of Davydd as much as possible. But I'd noticed some of the women of the village still looking at me. If I didn't know better -

and let's face it, I didn't — I would have sworn they were eyeing me up.

The cracker was when that leopard-print lass from the Y Gwyr saw me passing the bus stop with my pram. 'Hiya,' she said. By daylight she was even more
Hollyoaks Later
than I remembered. The least orange things about her were her teeth, which glowed a brilliant white as she worked gum around.

Her eyes observed me. Casual. Hunting cat casual.

'What you doing down here, tiger? Anything special?' she asked, applying lip gloss over and over until I could see the sun in her smile.

'Oh, um, ah,' I managed. This wasn't going to be a great conversation. For some reason she had me on edge. I was mightily glad that Gwen wasn't around to watch me falling over my tongue. 'You know,' I continued, casually pushing down on the pram until the front wheels popped up. 'Shopping and stuff.'

'And stuff, eh?' She inclined her head slightly, and then carried on chewing while she worked through that thought. 'Fancy.' Another pause. 'I'm Nerys.'

Pretty much no one is called Nerys, and absolutely not a girl in her early twenties who is mostly long legs and hair extensions. But she made it a bit sexy.

She stuck out a hand and I shook it.

'Hello, Nerys, I'm Rhys.'

'I know.' She smirked, letting go of my hand slowly. 'Rhys spelt D-I-L-F. Rhys with the kid.

Everyone knows about you. All us girls talk about you.' There was something like a wink.

OK, truth to tell, I may just have been flirting back with her, a really tiny little bit. It was a dull day, it was drizzling slightly and there I was being chatted up. I'm a man, all right, and I have manly urges. Although if you asked Gwen, she'd tell you my manly urges are farting in public and leaving the seat up. Shows how much she knows. 'And what are you up to, this fine day?' I asked. I did not add 'my pretty'. For Rhys Williams did not fall off the last train.

Nerys was heavy-lidded casual. 'I'm just waiting for a bus. It's my second favourite thing to do in a bus shelter.' Her eyebrows flared, then she looked down. It was a careful copy of Princess Diana doing demure. Mercifully, the lights of the approaching bus glowed round the corner, and it pulled up, the doors opening with a heartfelt sigh. Nerys leaned forward and breathed into my ear, 'Well, there's my ride,' then hopped on.

The bus chugged defiantly away up the hillside and I leaned back against the pram, exhaling for the longest time. 'Well, Anwen, love...' I was pleased.

'Daddy's still got it. Just saying.'

Of course, then it all stopped being fun and games.

G w e n

The bad day happened when I was out shopping. I went past the park, pushing the pram and listening to the glorious lack of noise from my lovely daughter.

Other people's children were playing in the park, and I thought how nice it all looked - odd, but nice.

All those lovely, black-haired kids running around.

They were just so neat and quiet. Not like you'd expect 15-year-olds to be. No hoodies covered in fag ash and cider stains, no swearing, no music on their mobiles - just well-behaved, ordered play. Strangely blissful, if a little unusual. I couldn't wait till Anwen grew up to be like that. Patiently waiting her turn on the swings.

I spotted the policeman approaching and fought down the urge to panic. Odd that. I remembered when I was a copper and I'd walk up to a group -

maybe just a gang hanging around when they should have been in school. Nothing spectacular. Just a nice, smiley young WPC all non-threatening body language and one of them would bolt, running like a scared hare. I'd think to myself (as I tried running after them in a body warmer) just what a stupid thing that was to do - guilt written all over their face. Dead giveaway. Never scarper. Always stand your ground.

Now I was on the other side of the tracks and the urge to flee was almost overwhelming. Of course, you can't really run with a pram. I mean, I'm sure they do it in LA as exercise, but what do I know?

Instead I planted my feet firmly where they were, smile on, eyes wide, baby toy ready. The innocent, innocent Earth Mother. I looked at him - typical friendly middle-aged Welsh bloke. Slightly gone-toseed. Puffy skin, tired hair, massive bags under his eyes, but a confident strut to his stride. Oh yes, he was very pleased with himself. He raised an arm and waved. All hail-fare-and-well-met, god love him.

He approached.

'Yes?' I said. Just at the moment I was going about under Rhys's name. We'd figured the whole hiding-in-plain-sight thing would be easier that way. After all, you couldn't have an alarm go off every time a couple called Williams moved into a Welsh village, could you now?

He stood there, rocking back on his feet and peering down into the pram. His face lit up like he'd seen an eclipse and for a moment he seemed utterly distracted.